Burning the Moth
by GoodfortheSoul
Summary: Set 6 years post-Chosen. Buffy and Spike unexpectedly reunite after their long separation. As they rebuild their relationship, they must contend with past mistakes and a new apocalypse. AU. No Season 8.
1. Normal, Again

**Set 6 years post-Chosen. Buffy and Spike unexpectedly reunite after their long separation. As they rebuild their relationship, they must contend with past mistakes and new apocalypse. AU. No Season 8. **

**Usual disclaimer: I do not own anything. **

The moth don't care when he sees the flame  
>he might get burned but he's in the game<br>and once he's in he can't go back, and  
>beat his wings 'til he burns them black<br>no the moth don't care when he sees the flame  
>no the moth don't care when he sees the flame<p>

Aimee Mann, "The Moth"

Burning the Moth

**New York 2009**

It had been ten years since Buffy had been a freshman at UC Sunnydale. Ten years since that lost girl had tried to navigate her way through the California campus. College life. That's what normal girls did, right? After she graduated from high school, she went to college. Or tried too. But she had been lost, vulnerable, and she had gotten her butt kicked all over campus by some slutty vamp bitch and her heart torn out and toyed with by some slutty guy. In the end she had dusted the vamp, wished she could have staked the guy too. At least she had gotten to hit him over the head with a branch when she had gone all Clan of the Cave Bear. She had survived, won the day, saved the world, or at least the campus.

She had tried to be normal. Do what normal people did. But that never really worked for her. She had dropped out. Sure, she had averted the apocalypse, saved the world, a few times, but she never graduated. Just more proof against her ever being normal.

So why was she here? Again.

She had thought that at this point in her life she had gotten over the whole being normal thing. Admitted that it was never going to happen.

She had lived so much since then, died so much, lost so much. And yet as she walked onto campus for her first day of orientation she felt herself revert back to that state of confused vulnerability. Despite whole saving the world thing, standing alone against the forces of evil (she wasn't alone any more, but she had been for long enough that she couldn't help thinking it sometimes), the vampires, demons, and whatever other nasties came her way, Buffy still found college kinda scary. Okay, really scary. She was the Chosen One, or a Chosen One now, but college had this weird ability to make her feel all unchoseny. It made her feel so unsure, all icky and weak. Not herself. She would so much rather be dusting vamps or stopping yet another apocalypse then going to meet with her new advisor about her class schedule. The end of days was so much less scary than the first day of school.


	2. Clinging

**London 2009**

She had been surprised when Giles had suggested she go back to school. He had called her into his office and asked her how she was. Nothing unusual about that. And she had given her usual response, "Fine."

"Well, you see, Buffy, that is precisely what I wanted to speak with you about," he had said, taking off his glasses and wiping them on the bottom of his shirt. "Since you… we… since we left Sunnydale, you've been 'fine.'"

"Not sure I'm seeing the problem. You want me to be unfine?"

"No, Buffy, I want you to be happy."

"I see. So, you're saying there's something wrong with me. Again."

Giles sighed, and Buffy checked her grumpiness. She hadn't been happy; she hadn't even really been fine since they had left Sunnydale, since she had lost everything. Her town. Her home. Him. The past six years she felt estranged, alienated, depressed, like when Willow had pulled her out of heaven. But this time it wasn't because she had died. It was because he had. And she was still here. Alone. Living. Or trying to.

She had always born her crosses, but the weight of her grief was crushing her.

She was sinking, drowning. Alone in the void of her sorrow. Her friends' calls, their lives, were distant. Their voices indistinct. She was alone. Last time she had felt this way, she had him to turn to. Cling to. Now she just had his memory and the whiskey he had always been so fond of. She couldn't drink it without thinking of him. But then again, she drank because she was thinking of him in the first place. There was really no way around the memory or the sorrow. She had lost him. Had lost everything.

And then she found out that he was alive. Andrew had been frantic to tell her, started babbling about some white Grandoff or something. She never understood him when he spoke nerd. She had thought he had totally lost it. Then, for a moment she had been happy, elated, saved. It was the first time in six months she had felt anything at all, except for the despair, regret, and the numbing sadness that threatened to blanket her in a cold despondency. But her elation only lasted for a moment, because she realized that he was alive and hadn't told her, hadn't called her, hadn't seen her, hadn't come for her in the way she had dreamed, dared to hope, he would. She went to bed and wrapping herself in her deadening depression and refused to get up. After a week she started functioning again, but there was a vacancy in her eyes where desperate hope, now gone, left nothing.

Before she had known he was alive, at least then she could hope that he would magically return to her. She had clung to it. It was, in fact, the only thing she had the strength to cling to. Once she learned that he was back for six months, had been corporeal for at least three, then she had nothing left to which to cling. She was left holding on only to her pain which threatened every day to consume her.

The first few weeks after Sunnydale had actually been the easiest. At least then everyone had been shattered. They had been triumphant, they had succeeded in beating back the armies of The First, closed the Hellmouth, but the cost had been high. Too high. They shared in a collective sense of loss. She was amazed how quickly people moved on with their lives. The group split up: Willow and Kennedy went to South America, Xander to Africa, Faith and Robin to Cleveland, Giles to England, and she and Dawn went to Italy.

But being with her sister had been hard. Harder than she had imagined. Dawn had never really forgiven Spike. She had acknowledged the good he had done in the end, recognized the man he had become. But Dawn couldn't forgive Spike for what it had taken to get him there. The soul hadn't mattered to her, not really. Not in the way that it had mattered to Buffy. Dawn just hadn't understood. If anything, it only reminded her of what soulless Spike had done to Buffy. The way in which he had hurt her, betrayed Dawn's trust in him. She saw his death as noble, but not enough. She moved on with her life quickly. And too quickly Buffy realized that she was the only one left to grieve.

Except Andrew. He was so pathetic, so annoying, so sweet sometimes, if you ignored all the major creepiness. Andrew didn't stop mourning Spike, and he was vocal about his belief that Spike would return. Too vocal. Sometimes she just wanted him to shut up about it. But, out of all of Sunnydale Alum, as he called them, Andrew had been one of the most thoughtful. Weird as that was. Maybe it was because he didn't have anything else going on. Maybe it was because no matter much he denied it, Andrew had a major crush on Spike. Everyone in the house had seen it. He had always got all fluttery, okay even more fluttery than usual, when ever Spike came into the room. Maybe he thought it was what Spike would have wanted from him. To be nice to her. Whatever the reason he was. Nice to her. He had given her a few pictures of Spike, screen stills he had taken from the videos he had made in Sunnydale. He also put together video, compiling a montage all the moments he had videotaped Spike. It was sweet of him, especially if Buffy didn't think that fact that Andrew kept a picture of him in the top draw of his nightstand. A small unornamented shrine to Spike. And if she was able to suppress her jealousy that Andrew had seen Spike, had touched him, while she had not, not seen him, not heard from him. Ignoring it all made it easier for her, so she did.

She stayed with Dawn long enough to get her settled in Italy, and then moved back to England to be with Giles and the new Slayers. She could handle Giles' chilliness about Spike. He had never liked the vampire. After all, he had tried to get him killed. Plotted to have him murdered. She didn't expect him to be all tears and tissues about loosing Spike, so his coldness was easier to bear.

And at least in England there was work to be done.

So that's what she did. She devoted herself to her work, to training, mentoring, guiding, the new Slayers. Everyday she went through the motions, and every day the motions got a little bit smoother. The Buffybot could have done the same thing she did everyday, and probably would have been pleasanter about it. But she was managing. Somehow she was getting through each day. Without him.

During those first months she slept with a couple random guys she had met at pubs. It had been easy. Getting them to take her home. She always went to their place. And she always left when it was over. Making excuses. Coldly rebuffing them if they approached her again. She couldn't remember their names, his eye colors, body types, anything. She had hoped that sex would make her feel something, anything, again, like it had when she came back from the dead. That maybe sex was what she needed to lift her out of this black fog of depression. But it turned out, actually, that only sex with Spike could make her feel like she was alive. And the only thing she remembered about these men was that they weren't Spike.

Then she heard that Spike was back and things fell apart again. Her center could not hold.

A month after her learned that Spike had pulled a Buffy (after all coming back from the dead was kind of her thing), Xander came back from Africa. She had tried to find comfort in him. He wasn't mourning for Spike. He had never liked Spike, never even pretended. Okay, not liked was the understatement of the century. What Xander felt for Spike was more hatred, detestation, abhorrence, and unadulterated loathing. But he was mourning. He was the only one left. Because he had lost Anya. And he was empty. He was filled with the same numb regret. He had fucked things up too. He, too, had hurt the person who had loved him.

One night she went to his room with a bottle of bourbon. They had been sitting in comfortable silence drinking for a while, when he grabbed her and kissed her. She went for it. Maybe she could feel something with Xander.

They had undressed each other with drunken intensity. He had grown thicker in the grief. She had grown thinner. Not frailer. But boney. Hard. Her softness fading away.

She looked at him through eyes that were distant detached. She should not do this. Not do this thing that could potentially destroy them. Their friendship. Everything they had meant, had come to mean, to each other. But she needed him. He was her heart. Maybe he could make hers beat again. And he needed her. She was his strength. This night they would cling to each other. Use it each other. Take what they needed.

But it hadn't been enough. They were both too broken to find comfort. Even in each other.

When he was inside her there was nothing. She had started to cry and he had rolled off of her, shaking with his own silent sobs.

The painful irony, of course, was that two years ago Spike and Anya had done the same thing when Buffy and Xander had hurt them, humiliated them, betrayed them in her private and his very public way. Having sex only reminded them of that, reminded them of their past mistakes, the things they should have done, the words they should have said, the errors they should have avoided.

"I miss her," Xander had whispered.

"I understand," was all Buffy could manage.

The got dressed, embarrassed, and never spoke about what had happened between them.

She had gone to see Angel. Three years after Sunnydale. After Spike. It had been a mistake. They had tried to be together, but so much had changed. She was not the sixteen year old who had fallen for the mysterious Mr. Tall Dark and Brooding. And he, too, had been through so much, risked so much, lost so much. They had both grown, but they had grown apart. He had come with her to the airport. She hadn't stopped loving him. But she could not be with him.

"I'll always love you," she whispered, tears brimming in her eyes.

"I know. Buffy, I'll always love you too."

"It's just…"

"Buffy, I understand," he cut her off before she could finish. "If I hear from him…"

"Thank you," she murmured. She hugged him, kissed him chastely on the lips, and then got on her plane without looking back.

She returned to England and returned to her work.


	3. The Push

**London 2009**

"Buffy, are you listening to even a syllable I'm saying?" Giles asked curtly.

"Yup. Syllables, words, the way they are arranged in sentences, with punctuation and everything," she paused. "Sorry… I was just… thinking."

"Of course. I hope this is not completely unexpected?"

"No, no," responded Buffy, unsure how long Giles had been talking for. How long she had been ignoring him. Lost in her thoughts.

"So, you have thought about going back, then?"

"Yeah, a couple of times." She would like to go back to California. England was so soggy. Plus the food was majorly suckish. Bangers and mash, spotted dick, blood sausage. Did that stuff even count as food?

She had only stayed for in England so long because she didn't have anywhere else to go. She had lost her town, her home, everything. She had won her battle against the armies of The First, had closed the Hellmouth, but she now had no where to go to. No one to go to. England wasn't home, but at least it was a place to live. If that is what she had been doing the past six years. Living. Sometimes it was hard to tell.

"Right. Wonderful." Giles said, surprised. This was going to be easier than he had anticipated. "I have been in contact with an old friend of mine, Vivian Tallis. She is a professor at Fordham University, head of the English department, in fact. Vivian believes that she will be able to assist you in enrolling in the University's undergraduate program and ensuring that your UC Sunnydale credits will transfer without any unforeseen difficulties. The university is located in New York City, one of the burrows actually, which has always been somewhat of a supernatural hotspot. In New York everyone is too busy or self-absorbed or odd to notice, but the demon population is quite explosive. Not literally, of course, although there might be some demons that do explode, I haven't heard of any sighting in the New York Metropolitan area recently. Perhaps you could look into that once you relocate."

"University?"

Giles sighed. Perhaps this wasn't going to be so easy after all. He should have expected no less from Buffy. "Why yes of course. What did you think I meant when I said that I thought that you ought to go back to school."

"Uh," she paused for a moment, finally offering, "high school?" She really should have been paying better attention. She should have guessed that Giles would be up to something like this.

"Why would you ever want to go back to high school, Buffy? Your high school experience was literally hell." 

"I liked high school. They gave me a little toy surprise. College… now that was Hell. Remember The Initiative. And Adam. And demonic roommates. And haunted frat houses. And magic beer. And all the homework. Why would I ever want to go back to college?"

"To complete your degree. To further your education."

"I don't need a degree. I'm the Chosen One. The original. Well not the original. The original wasn't much with the witty word play or the person hygiene. But I'm the originalest. I was Slaying way before everyone else started doing it. Don't I qualify for an honorary degree or a certificate or something?"

"Buffy you certainly have the practical field experience, and you are more than efficient on many theoretical fronts as well. However, I thought a bit of formal academic training might aid you in your interactions with the new Slayers."

"Good, do they offer The Psychology of the Slayer 101 at this university? I heard that's a tough class to get in to. I hope its not already full when I register. Drats! I was really hoping to take the Critical Problems of Slayer Training seminar next semester too. Or maybe PSYC 340 Adolescent Development and the Demon Essence Within. Do they have that one?"

God I wish this did, thought Giles. Were such classes offered in earnest he might seriously consider enrolling. After all these years he was still attempting to figure out the psychology of his Slayer. "Thank you. Your sarcasm, as always, is much appreciated. They may be Slayers, Buffy, but they are girls first," he explained. "Girls who have grown up in diverse environments. They all come from different political, socioeconomic, cultural backgrounds. While being Slayers is one thing they all have in common, we might be able to help them better if you had a deeper understanding of the sociological and psychological effects of these differences."

"You think I'm doing a bad job, Giles?"

"No, Buffy. I think you are doing a fine job. Splendid, really, considering our resources. But as our project grows, I think it might be wise to expand our knowledge bases."

"Good, then you can go back to school and report back to me," she said false enthusiasm. "Or maybe we could send the Buffybot. I bet she would like higher education."

"She doesn't have the capacity for abstract thought. Buffy, there is another reason why I think you ought to go." Giles leaned back in his chair, pulling his glasses off again. "I know how much your work means to you. But I think this is something that you ought to do for you." He paused. "I've watched you help the new Slayers develop. But Buffy, you're not. You're standing still." He leaned towards her, pretending, for the moment, not to notice the tears welling up in her eyes. He had to say this to her. "Since you lost S… Sunnydale, Buffy, you haven't grown. If anything, you've shrunk into yourself. Don't think I have not taken note. You do good work, Buffy, but you're not happy. I think it might be wise for you to get away for a while. To focus on yourself."

A single tear slid down Buffy's cheek, quickly followed by others. She didn't want to focus on herself. She had been avoiding herself for the past six years. If Giles could see she was hurting, couldn't he see why? Couldn't he see that a couple of classes wouldn't change anything? "I don't want to," she said in a small voice.

"I know, Buffy," he said, gently putting a hand on her shoulder. "I know you don't. But you have to. I can't allow you to continue like this. Its hurting me to see you like this, and its killing you. You need more. Deserve more."

"Isn't this the part when you leave?"

"No, Buffy. This is the part when I send you away. It will be good for you Buffy, I promise."

**London 2009**

When Buffy left his office, Giles poured himself a short glass of scotch. She had cried some more. He had expected that. Her tears. Her resistance. Her eventual acquiescence. She might have been distant from him, from everyone, the past six years, but he had not forgotten who she was. At her core. Somewhere deep inside the automaton who had been moving, living, in her place since Sunnydale, was still Buffy, the Slayer. His Slayer. The fighter. Somewhere buried deep inside the shell she had constructed around herself was the woman who just wanted to do the right thing. Help people. Save the world.

He had known that appealing to her sense of right, of duty, would convince her to go. And it had.

But that hadn't been his reason for sending her. Giles leaned back in his chair, taking a mouthful of scotch. He just hoped his reasons had been good, his motives correct. It was the last sacrifice he was willing to make for her. "Sending her into the bloody vipers den," he grumbled. He was sending her back into the darkness from which she had only barely escaped. He had tried to pull her out. And now he was pushing her back in. Blind. "With not so much as a torch to show her the way." He finished his drink. He hated the idea, hated this plan, but he would have to trust Buffy to guide herself. He couldn't do it for her anymore. She would have to light her own path from now on. She would have to be her own flame.


	4. Schedules

**New York 2009**

She had agreed to go. Reluctantly, but she had agreed. Giles was right, there was nothing for her in England. Not really. There was really nothing for her anywhere. Anywhere where he wasn't. So there was nothing for her in New York either. But she could use the change in background scenery, and she was tired of London. She was tired of everything. Tired of life. She didn't have the energy to argue, to fight him on it, to fight at all. So she had agreed to go.

Besides, he might be right. It might help the new Slayers if she completed her education. And helping them was the only thing that gave her life any meaning anymore. With so many Chosen Ones the fate of the world no longer rested only on her shoulders. There were so many others to share the burden. She had thought that no longer being alone in her destiny would be liberating. And maybe, had he been there with her, it would have been. Hell, she would have loved to take time off from being the Slayer had she had someone to spend that time with. To have someone to just be normal with. As normal as a Slayer in love with an ensouled vampire could be. Besides, he had the uncanny ability to keep her on track, keep her true to herself, true to the mission. If she had him with her things would be different. But she didn't and they weren't.

So instead of liberated, she felt lost. Because that same cross which had been so crushing had also given her purpose, conviction, meaning. And now the only meaning her life had was to help teach the new girls how to help her carry their burdens.

And so, here she was, back on a college campus, wondering what the fuck she was doing here. After everything she had been through, she was back where ten years ago she had been so lost, so afraid.

"Hello, you must be Buffy Summers," said the woman sitting across from her. She was Giles' age, English, and attractive with jet black hair, graying at the temples. "I'm Vivian Tallis. Rupert has told me so much about you. He and I grew up together. Throughout our childhoods we were quite inseparable. As we grew up we grew apart, as children as will, began moving in different circles. But I've always had a fondness for Rupert. I'm so pleased to be able to help you both."

Giles had not told her much about this Tallis woman, so she could not be sure what exactly 'so much' entailed. "Its nice to meet you too, Ms. Tallis. Thanks for all your help with the logistical transfer stuff."

"It was my pleasure. Glad I could assist a friend of Rupert's. Now, though, enough pleasantries, lets get to the business of this meeting. I'm sure you are eager to get your classes selected. Looking at your transcripts from UC Sunnydale, I see that you have completed most of your general education requirements. However, there are several requirements yet to be fulfilled. You need still to take a language class. Do you happen to be familiar with any foreign languages?"

"I took French in high school, but it was with major suckage. And I spent a few months in Italy, and picked up a bit, but really just enough to eat and go shopping, just the basics, getting by stuff, you know." Truthfully, she hadn't interacted with much of anyone when in Italy, except Dawnie. And even with Dawn, she hadn't been much for the verbal exchange.

"Very well then, either of those languages will do. We can see which best suits your schedule. You will also need to enroll in a math class to fulfill that requirement."

Buffy groaned, what had she let Giles talk her into? She was totally going need Willows help if she was going to pass a math class. Maybe she would be able to teleport some tutoring.

Vivian Tallis smiled at her. "There remains two more requirements. You'll need to enroll in a science class, biology, chemistry, physics, which science is not of concern to the university."

"I'll take biology, I guess." At least she wasn't squimish about cutting things up. Demons, frogs, she didn't imagine to would make much of a difference after all the innards she had seen as the Slayer.

"Perfect. The last class is English literature…"

"No," Buffy interrupted her. "I'm sorry. Ms. Tallis. There must be some mistake. I took a literature class. We read the Hunchback of Notre Dame. It was Prof. O'Connor's class."

"I'm sorry, Ms. Summers. But your records to not indicate that you enrolled in a literature class. And considering that tragic natural disaster that occurred in Sunnydale five years ago," ('natural disaster' the 'so much' was quickly turning into 'not so much at all,' Buffy thought) "it is impossible to contact the school," Vivian Tallis continued. "Unfortunately, we can only go off the records we have." She checked her sheets. "There is a literature class you might enjoy. It is taught by one of our PhDs, a promising young Victorianist. He is currently engaged in very interesting manuscript work." Sounds thrilling, thought Buffy. "I'm surprised there are any openings in his class. They usually fill up quite quickly. His teaching style is a bit unorthodox, but he is very popular with the students. He has an 8:00- 10:30 class on Thursdays night, does that work with your schedule?"

"That's fine," Buffy replied. At least she could patrol after class that way. Relieve some of her boredom. Popular with the students was promising at least. From what she remembered her time as an undergrad, popular equals easy.

"Good, then, I'll register you for ENG 102 with Prof. Pratt. Now let us figure out the rest of these classes. I'm sure you are eager to continue to settling in. New York is quite a change from London, but I do hope you'll be happy here."

Buffy smiled. It was unlikely that she would be, could be, happy anywhere. But she would adjust, survive. After all, she always did.


	5. Bare

**New York 2009**

Wednesday was the first day of classes and Buffy had gone to math and French. Both were pretty snoozey. Her math professor was way too excited about calculus for him to possibly be real. Buffy was pretty much ninety-nine point nine percent sure he had to be a robot. Her French teacher had just been insane. A woman with long grey hair and a sapphire muumuu, she had spent most of the class explaining to the students how French could get them laid, and insisting that they call her _Madame_. Once they got to the actual French, though, Buffy had drifted off into her own thoughts. Verb conjugations and Buffy were still pretty unmixy. Okay, not remotely mixy.

Her classes were over by 3:30. There was no need to stick around campus. It seemed like most of the undergraduate population was camped out on the quad, the girls sunning themselves, the boys throwing various shaped objects at each other. There were a couple of people with guitars. It reminded her of when she was eighteen. She would have been there too. With Willow and Xander, maybe Oz and Riley. She would have happy, basking in the sun, basking in friendship. But it wasn't her scene anymore. Couldn't be.

So, she walked past the quad and off campus. Her apartment was only a few blocks away. She had been lucky enough to get a one bedroom, which meant, happily, no roommate. She wasn't good with the whole roomy thingy. She had learned her first time around. Rooming with Willow had been fine, but she needed space. Besides, all those late night patrols, laundry splatter with blood and other more ew-evoking demon slimies, and the fact that evil had no problem making house calls were so not helpful when it came to sharing a room. Slayers just could not be considerate roommates. She was happy to have her own space. It was nice. Nice to be away from watchers and Slayers and friends. Away from everyone.

When she got back to her room she pulled out her math homework. After about fifteen minutes she was frustrated, bored, and confused and feeling pretty violent towards calculus. When she found herself fantasizing about using her pencil to stake her professor, who had somehow gone all fangy and bumpy, she put her homework down, and started mindlessly wandering around her bare apartment. To call it spartan would be kind, but she liked to think of it that way. The space of a warrior. No luxuries. No distractions. The truth was, though, that she had been in cozier crypts.

She had done nothing to personalize it. She had unpacked the few things she had brought with her when she had gotten there the previous Saturday. Not much, just some cloths, bedding, a few kitchen utensils. The bare essentials. Emphasis on the "bare" part.

She had found a couch a Craig's List and Giles had given her money for a TV, which was currently on a small folding table. The bed had been there when she moved in. Left by the previous tenet. The mattress was encased in plastic and she had vigorously wiped it down with Clorox, using all of her Slayer strength to remove any ickiness. Now it was just one of those things best left unthought about. She didn't have money to by a new bed, so this one would have to do. The Giles had also given her a laptop and she was able to piggyback on her neighbor's internet. The laptop was supposed to be another gift from the Slayer school, which was funding her education and the whole reason, ostensibly, why she was there in the first place. Of course, Buffy knew that the school had no money, that the computer, the tuition, everything was paid for by Giles. He was still trying to take care of his troubled surrogate daughter. He was still hoping that she hadn't sunk beyond the point where he could still save her.

She wished she had stayed in England. At least there she had furniture.

She looked at the clock, 5:00, way too early for patrol. It would be more than two hours before the sun set. She poured herself a bowl of cereal, and plopped down on the couch to watch some TV, kill some time before she could go out and kill some demons. At least that was something to look forward to. She flipped through the channels, but there wasn't much on. Never really was. She found a _Friends_ rerun and settled on that.

Just as the show was ending, her phone rang: Dawnie. She must be getting ready for bed, Buffy thought. I should have called her earlier. She answered the phone.

"Dawnie. Hi."

"Buffy. Hey. Hows the student? How was your first day of school? Do you remember how psyched mom always used to get for our first day back? She would make us stand in front of the house and take our pictures with our lunchboxes and backpacks. Or at least, the monks think that that's how it should to have been."

Buffy smiled. Her sister still sometimes felt it was necessary to qualify all of those memories she had pre-fourteen. Buffy had tried to explain to her that it didn't matter that the actual events might not have happened, but the memories were real. Anyway, it didn't matter if they were real or not. They felt real. It was the life that they had lived together, even if they hadn't.

"No one here to take my picture," Buffy answered. "Although I did look wicked cute. Couldn't find your _Beauty and the Beast_ lunchbox, though. Must have left it in England. Or Xander stole it."

Dawn laughed. "So how was it? You know, being back." Dawn had graduated from college a year ago, and had set up a small satellite Slayer School in Italy. She was dating one of the Watchers, and seemed happy. She liked it there.

"It was scary. My professors are all completely insane."

"What about guys?"

Buffy laughed, "I'm the weird old lady in the class."

"The hot weird old lady."

"Whatever. The mere thought of the horniness that is freshman boys is so not appealing at this point in my old lady life. Anyway, how are things with you Dawnie?"

Dawn started telling her about the new slayer they had brought to Italy. Her boyfriend, Jesse, was going to supervise her training until she could be assigned a permanent watcher.

Buffy, half listening, wandered over to her laptop. For a lack of anything better to do, she checked her email. There was a message in her inbox from wpratt, her English professor, she guessed:

Class,

Read the attached story for our class meeting tomorrow. We will be discussing it in detail. And no complaints, it's not like it's the end of the world or anything.

wp

"Ew," Buffy could not help muttering.

"Ew, what?" Dawn asked, confused. She had been telling Buffy about how Jesse was talking taking her to Paris for a week, if two of the watchers from the London school could be spared to supervise the new Slayers. "What are you talking about?"

"Sorry, Dawnie. I just checked my email. I got homework for my class tomorrow. Major unfairness. I didn't even have that class yet. What a bastard. I thought that Giles' friend said that students love this guy. Doesn't that mean he is supposed to be easy?"

"Did you check him out on ratemyprofessor?"

"Huh?"

"You have been out of the collegiate loop for a while. It's a website. Students go on and rate their professors, leave feed back about the classes. I wouldn't register for a class without looking at it."

Buffy googled it and found the website quick enough. She found Prof. Pratt. He had high overall score, but easiness not so much. "Why is there a vegetable next to his name?"

"That's a red hot chilli pepper, Buffy. It means that he's a total hottie. Freshmen jocks might not be doing it for you. But it sounds like English class just got a lot sexier."

Buffy laughed. Her sister was ever the optimist about Buffy and dating. Dawn just wanted her to happy, and Buffy knew that. It hadn't been easy for Dawnie to see her big sister drowning in grief. Dawn hadn't forgiven Spike, didn't think that he was worth her sister's time or her tears. A couple of times Dawn had tried reminding Buffy of all the reasons why Spike wasn't worth it. Buffy had refused to listen, snapped at Dawn. They both chose to forget those conversations. Dawn chose to ignore Buffy's grief, and Buffy chose to play along. The quiet lies necessary to sustain their relationship.

"A world of no," Buffy responded. "Like I would ever go out with someone who gave me homework on the first date. Besides, from his email he seems like a total monster."

Dawn laughed, "What kind? You're not already fantasizing about slaying your profs, are you?"

"No," Buffy lied, "But, this homework is sucking the life from me, so I'm going to go with 'vampire.'" She paused for a moment. "Oh. Did I tell you I think my calc professor is a robot?"

"Like the Ted kind of the Buffybot kind?"

"Definitely Tedish."


	6. ENG 102

**AN: Thank you so much to all of you who have reviewed so and to everyone who has subscribed to Story Alert. I really appreciate all of the wonderful feedback. So thanks! **

**New York 2009**

It was Thursday and Buffy was sitting in her English class. She had gotten there a bit late, had run in with a vamp on her way to campus. She had dusted him pretty effortlessly, but still, he had made her later. Stupid vampires. Always popping up for a quick slay when she so did not have the time. Luckily, Prof. Pratt seemed to be running later than she was, and she slid into one of the few open seats, behind an enormous football-type guy. Great, can't even see the board from behind this lump of boy, she grumbled to herself.

She pulled out a notebook and a copy of the story Prof. Pratt had assigned. At least it was short. Actually, she had kinda enjoyed the story. "Harrison Bergeron" by Kurt Vonnegut. She could relate. The feeling of superiority, like she was operating at a different level from everyone around her. Or almost everyone. Things had changed since Sunnydale. But, still, she got it. She was one of the few people in the world without the handicaps, mediocrity, equality, normality. She had struggled with these feelings of superiority and isolation for so long.

Maybe that's why she could not seem to get over Spike. Because she had always felt superior to all the men around her. She had always been stronger, faster, a better fighter, a more capable leader. With Riley, especially, it had been a problem. She had felt superior to Spike, too. Treated him like dirt, like his was less than human, beneath her, for too long too. But when it came down to the dance, Spike was one of the only men who could keep up with her, equal her, push her to new depths and new heights.

But she probably would not be able to contribute any of this to the class discussion. Share these insights. If she started talking about how she could identify with Harrison, because of being a Slayer and all, then her classmates would really think she was crazy. Crazy and old.

Her phone vibrated in her bag, so she pulled it out. Still no sign of the professor. What was the rule again about leaving class early if the instructor doesn't show? How long were you required to wait? Because she was so ready to be out of here.

There was a text from Willow. _Hey Buffy. How is everything? School?_

_Okayish_, she wrote back, _in Eng class. Waiting for prof. no-show._

Willow wrote back to her a minute later. _Yum Eng. I wish I was back in school!_

She heard the door open and the heavy sound of a man's footsteps. Guess she wouldn't be getting out early. _You would. Class is starting. Ttyl. Going to need major math and french help! Xo._ She quickly wrote back, before slipping her phone back.

"Right. Hello. I'm Professor Pratt." Her head snapped up. No fucking way. She must be totally delusional. It must be a spell. Or mind control. Or a dream. Or she entered some sort of alternate dimension. That must be it. A different dimension where big bads were PhDs. Maybe this was the world without shrimp. Now that she thought about it she hadn't seen any shrimp since she had gotten here. Not that she had been looking, but still. Maybe on the plane ride over they had passed through some interdimensional portal thingy. That was the only logical explanation.

Because there was no way Spike was here, teaching this class. There was no way he was professor Pratt. The 'promising young Victorianist.' That he was really here. She must be dreaming. Because there was no way he was here. In the class room. With her. Impossible. It couldn't be…

"And that's what you can call me. We're not chums, and I'm not one of your mates that you pointlessly throw the pigskin around with, so don't try anything clever or cutesy. Professor Pratt or just Professor. Captain s'okay, too, if you have the balls for it." He smiled fiercely at the class, most of who were eyeing him nervously.

So, even in this alternate reality, the land without shrimp or wherever she was, Spike was still a smart ass. Still a cocky pain in the ass. Some things didn't change no matter what dimension you were in.

"Okay. Right, then. Lets call roll. Find out who decided to skip out on the first day. Not making a good impression on the old Prof. Not like you good boys and girls, who are all here and ready to learn, yeah" he raised an eye brow. A spattering of anxious laughter.

Buffy wanted to laugh, scream, cry, run and hide. She wanted to hit him, hug him. The only door leading out of the classroom was the one she came through. There was no way to make an inconspicuous exit. Besides, she was the Slayer, when had she ever run from a vampire? But this is so different, she thought, this is the vampire you have been grieving for the six years. The vampire who died for you and left you an empty shell. The vampire you love.

At this moment he scared her more than any big bad she had ever had to face. He would probably love to hear that too. It would definitely get a smirk out of him to know she was finally, truthfully, terrifyingly afraid.

"Lets see. Andrews, Kevin." A small boy with bad skin raised his hand. "Right. Barnstein, Alicia."

He hadn't seen her, she guessed. The mound of flesh in the seat in front of her blocking his view of her. But she could see him. Combat boots. Black jeans. That belt with the silver buckle. How often had she dreamed about pulling that from the loops of his pants. Tight black t-shirt. His sense of style apparently had not improved. His full lips, high cheekbones. Sallow, in a hot kind of way. His hair was the same, too, unnaturally bleached blond. And those piercing blue eyes. God, they made her feel all warm and squishy and terrified.

"Ernshaw, Kate. Foe, Daniel. Hankshaw, Cecilia."

She couldn't do this. She couldn't be here. Like this. With him. It was too much. She had to run. But she couldn't. There was no way. She was trapped. The walls of the room were crushing her, the rough cadence of his voice as he read off the student names wrapping around her, smothering her, consuming her. She was paralyzed.

"Peterson, Samuel. Price, Frances. Roberts, Franklin. Rose, Gregory. Samson, Michael."

No. No. No. She couldn't do this. Had to get away. He. She. Couldn't. She was in a complete panic.

"Summers, Buffy." His head jerked up from the list he was reading. "Buffy?" he choked out. A near whisper. His eyes quickly scanned the room, suddenly predatory, and she saw his nostrils quiver as he took in a quick whiff of air. Trying to pick up on her scent amongst the hormones and b.o. of the classroom. The smelling people thing still really grossed her out. She hesitated and raised her hand. He saw her hand, caught her scent, and his eyes brightened, flashed, as they bore into hers. She saw love, joy, incredulity in those eyes. Or at least she hoped, dreamed, prayed, that was what she saw. But also fear. Not an emotion those icy blue orbs often expressed. She had seen it in them before. That night he had first told her he loved her, or when he would have made the whole messy confession had she not stopped him that first time. That night he saw her on the stairs after Willow had brought her back from the dead. The night that he had told her that just holding her had been the best night of his life. Could he possible still love her? Could he possibly still feel the way he had those times when he had shown her his fear, his vulnerability?

She wondered if he could see, sense her fear. She wondered if he knew how much she had grown to love him. How vulnerable, broken, shattered she had become without him. Because of him.

He was the first to recover, wrenching his eyes off of her. The move seemed to cause him physical pain. "Right. Uh. Summers. There is a notation here. I need to speak with after class. Very important."

"Okay," she managed to mumble.

"Okay. Right. Talbot, Ryan. Tennyson, Erica. Toldry, Eva. Travis, Christopher. And Wollstone, Maria. Okay, anybody enrolled in this class not on this list?" He paused for a moment. "Okay, lets begin with the learning then, eh class?"


	7. Alone

**Thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter. All of your very kind reviews really helped me to work through this one, so I hope you enjoy it! Thanks. **

**New York 2009 **

Somehow Buffy had survived the class. She wasn't sure how. But she was pretty certain that it was only Slayer strength that kept her from fleeing the room. She had wanted to. This was impossible. It was absurd. Spike was here. So little space separated them. Almost nothing. They had been separated for so long for so many different reasons, and now they were here. Together.

And yet, she was not in his arms. She was not pressed against his chest, not clinging to him with everything she had left inside her, everything his being alive, being here, brought back to her.

They were still apart, and he was lecturing her, the class, about the importance of careful and critical reading. They were going to spend the semester reading literature about the apocalypse. Great, thought Buffy, as if I haven't lived through enough of them, died to prevent them, now I have to spend a whole semester reading about them.

Spike explained to the class that apocalypse referred not only to the end of the world, but the end of a world, a world order. For this reason the syllabus included a number of dystopic novels. "'Snot always about the end with the light show and big bang, children," he explained. "Sometimes is more insidious than that. The gradual changes that eat at you, erode you, from the inside. The oppression that no one recognizes until its too late. Slipping away into a new norm that no one suspects. Sometimes, though, it is just about the boom or the plague or the big baddy that kills everyone."

What the hell does he get out of this? She wondered. After all, he had died and nearly died a couple of times to save the world too. Maybe he considered himself some kind of an expert.

She could not believe this was happening. She wanted to run. She couldn't do this. If he had been kissing her, this would be easy. It would be right. But not like this. She couldn't do it like this.

The two and half hour class seemed to take forever. She was hoping Spike would end it early, but he didn't. Always a pain in the ass. She was in agony. She couldn't take this. Couldn't survive these two and half hours. Couldn't remember how she had survived the past six years. Each minute she did not think that she would make it to the next. Time moved so slowly.

It was torture. Maybe she had died again, only this time they had sent her to hell dimension. Maybe this class would last forever. Maybe this was her punishment for all the times she had fucked up. All the times she had failed. All the times she had scorned him. Hurt him. Used him.

"So, then, why all this fuss over the apocalypse. Why bother reading about it, writing about it, talking about it? Why am I wasting your time with this rubbish?" Spike demanded of the class.

"Because its cool," the oversized mound of boy in front of her said. Some of the class laughed.

"'Cool?'" Spike growled. "There is nothing cool about the end. Unless we all end up in an ice hell or climate freeze, which is not beyond the realm of possibility. But then, still, it would just be bloody cold. No. When the end comes there won't be anything cool about it. Your friends and family dying all around you. Your world crumbling. Everything dead. Destroyed. Rotting. Diseased. And you too scared to even get your sodden pecker up for one last shag. Nothing cool about that, mates. Keep that in mind when you are reading. This isn't meant to be cool; it is meant to be terrifying. A warning to all of us to stop screwing things up." He paused and looked around the room, his eyes settling on her, "What do you think, Summers?"

"Because it could?" Buffy offered, her small smile weary, sad, knowing. "The end could come at anytime, and we, or most of us, would have no way of knowing. It could be happening right now and we would have no clue."

"Exactly. Very good, Summers. The potential is already always here, kiddies. With us. In us. Every day could be the last day before the end of the world. And there is nothing that you or I can do about it." He paused. "But, then again, tomorrow and the day after that and the day after that could all be normal. Life could go on and on, till long after you and I are dust and ashes. We don't know when the end will come. But we sense that it will. And part of us is a little comforted to think that it will happen during our time. On our watch. We want it, you see. Because it will give us a defined place on that infinite time line. Will give us a little meaning. Save us from obscurity. And we want that. Even if it means death and destruction and horrors beyond what you and I can imagine, because at least then it all means something, yeah. Makes us special and we're just a little bit in love with that idea."

Finally the class was over. The other students quickly got up to leave, shoving their pens and notebooks into their backpacks and scurrying out the door, discussing where the best parties would be that night. Most of them would be drunk within an hour.

Neither Buffy nor Spike moved. She remained seated at her desk. He remained leaning against the wall beside the chalkboard.

Neither of them spoke. There was nothing and too much to say.

She could heard the rhythmic tick of the clock, measuring each second that past, counting the moments of impossible silence, calculating the increasing tension between them.

He was the first to speak, to move, to break the stifling stillness that had settled over them. He moved towards her, taking a few uncertain steps. He smiled, "Hello, cutie. Didn't know when I'd see you again, love."

His apparent nonchalance made her so angry. Fuck him. She had cried for him. Grieved for him. Suffered for him. She had not gone a single day the past six years without being stung by his memory, suffocated by his loss. And this is how he greets her. Fuck him.

Buffy rose from her desk and walked toward him. He moved towards her, slightly, clearly unsure what to expect. Then her fist collided with his nose. "God damn it, woman," she heard him exclaim, "I don't think that I deserved that." She raised her other fist, but his hand blocked hers before it could connect with his cheekbone. "Don't think so, love. I'll let you have the one shot because you're in bloody shock, but this is no way to greet a fucking Champion."

She was so angry. Hot tears stung her eyes. "You died." She yelled at him. Screamed. Sobbed. She was being irrational, she knew. She was not even sure what she was accusing him of. Of course he had died. Died saving the world. Died for her. Gave himself to her mission. For her mission. She was being irrational, asserting the obvious, but the words tumbled forth. "You died. You bastard. You fucking got yourself killed."

"Yeah. Saving the world, remember Slayer. Those fireworks were the only way to close the Hellmouth."

"And then you came back," her fists were slamming against his chest. Not as hard as she could be hitting, frantically, sloppily.

"Yeah, love, I did. Not part of the game plan, you know, but that wasn't my fault."

"And you left me all alone." She was sobbing now. Her fists now only weakly battering against him.

He sighed. "I'm sorry, love. But you weren't alone. You had your mates, most of them survived right? And your little sis. I left you with the world, Buffy. I gave my life so I could give you the world." His voice caught in his throat, the tears that were welling in his eyes threatening to choke him with sobs. She had stopped hitting him, at least. She was pressed against him now, her head lying on his chest where his heart should have been pounding. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her close to him, trying to calm her shaking body. She gripped the black fabric of his tee-shirt. Her body was tense, convulsing, with sobs.

She couldn't do this. It was too much. Too much after everything else she had been through. She couldn't handle it. And she was making herself a fool in front of him. She was the Slayer, not some blubbering idiot. She couldn't let him see her like this. She started to pull away, but his arms tightened around her. "As if I wanted a world that didn't have you in it," she mumbled against his chest. "You left me all alone," she said again, quietly, her body shuddering with her sobs, her grief.

His arms tightened. Had she been anyone else it would have crushed her. But to her, it just felt good, safe. She quieted. Her breath steadying, her sobs ceasing, her mind clearing. Then she remembered why she was angry with him. "You said you loved me," she said, her tone accusatory.

"Oh bloody hell, woman. Of course I love you. What the fuck does it take with you? What more could I have bloody done? I let myself be engulfed in flames for you. I laid down my sodden life. What more do you want from me?"

"You should have called," she answered defiantly. A small smile on her lips. She was finally realizing that she was here, with him. That he was holding her. Loving her. And it felt good. For the first time in six years she felt good. It was so right. She silently forgave him for dying. Wordlessly pardoned him for not calling her, not finding her. Because what did it matter, really? At least now he was here with her.

He kissed the top of her forehead. "Oh balls, Buffy. You are insufferable. Come on, I need a drink."


	8. The Stuff of Happy Endings

**New York 2009 **

They had said little to each other as the walked from campus to a local bar. It was a dive, but Spike liked it. Posh, trendy spots had never really been his thing. Now, they sat at a table, smudged with dirt and fingerprints, in a dingy corner of the bar. She had a beer. He had a beer, too, and quite a few shots of whiskey.

He had loved her absolutely. He had comforted her when no one else could and he had held her when no one else would. He had died to save her. Technically he had died saving to world, but without her in it he bloody well wouldn't have bothered.

And she couldn't even pick up the phone to call him.

Bugger that.

He knew that she must have heard about the magic bit with the amulet. Must have heard that he had come back. If not before, at least after Andrew had paid his little LA visit and the crazy Slayer cut his bleedin' hands off. And not a word out of her. After everything he had done for her and the Niblit and the Scoobies, not to mention the entire world, you know, sacrificing himself to defeat the forces of evil (and damn well almost doing so again in LA), he didn't think a phone call was too much to ask.

He had thought of calling her. A hundred times he had picked up the phone. Even before he had recorporalized. He wanted to call her. Wanted to see her. Be with her again. He had just wanted to hear her voice. He had even dialed it a few times. But he had hung up before she answered. Then he had bought a boat ticket to Europe, to find her. But he hadn't gone.

And it wasn't really because he thought that she owed him something.

Bollocks. Spike could rant all he wanted about dying to save the world, but she didn't owe him anything. It wasn't any more than she had done. Twice. No. The reason he didn't call wasn't because he thought she owed him something. It was because she didn't owe him anything at all.

He was afraid that he had been right. That after everything he had done, he still wasn't worthy of her love. Sure, she had said she loved him. But she had waited until it was clear he would die. She had given a poor bloke a gift, but she didn't mean it. She couldn't have meant it.

In the end they had gone to each other. Clung to each other during that last night. He had made love to her for the first time. Prior to that all they had done was shag. Fuck. That last night had been different. She had been there with him, like she had been at that abandoned house.

She had come down the stairs and he had risen to meet her. They had not said a word to each other. They had not talked about what they were about to do. They both already knew. There had been no need for words.

They had met halfway. She had reached up and touch his face, looked into his eyes. He had parted his lips, about to speak. She moved her fingers from his cheek to his lips, silencing him. He remembered what she had said to him about the first night they had spent together since he had won his soul, since he had returned, since he had tried to rape her: _Does it have to mean something?_ No. It didn't have to mean anything. Not yet. So he did not speak. For once he knew when he bloody well better shut up.

They had never been much for conversation anyway.

Instead, he raised his hand, cupping her chin, tilting her head up towards him. They stayed like that for several minutes, looking into each other's eyes, barely touching, never speaking. He was terrified. More terrified, even, then the night he had held her in that empty house, the night that he had refused to abandon her after her bloody friends had turned on her, kicked her out. Pouncy self-righteous bitches, the lot of them. Her sodden super friends had turned on her right quick; when the going got tough, the Scoobies got with the betrayal. He alone had remained loyal to her. He was the only one who had believed in her completely, loved her unconditionally, never doubted her. Whipped. That's what Faith had called him. Well he had always been love's bitch. He was bloody well aware of that. So maybe he was whipped. But he had also been right to follow her. She had needed him more that night than she had ever needed him.

Besides, she had believed in him when no one else had, when even he had given up on himself. She hadn't loved him, but she had believed in him, believed that he could change. Had changed. He had asked her to kill him and she would not do it. The Scoobies would have killed him several times over; they been right chuffed to have offed old Spike, and Giles and Wood had given a real go at it. But not her. She didn't love him, but she refused to give up on him. It was insufferable. She was fucking insufferable.

He had never thought that he would touch her again like that. He never thought that she would let him wrap his arms around her, hold her close to him. Not after that night on the bathroom floor. The night he had tried to force her to love him. The violation he had attempted was more than sexual, he had tried to rape her emotionally, tried to force his love into her. And he could never forgive himself for it.

And neither could she. So when she had asked him to hold her, he had been surprised. Surprised that she could stomach having him that close to her. Since he had come back they had had so little contact. But all of it had been so charged. Even the little girls she was training had picked up on it. Bloody hell, even that sodden twit Andrew had picked up on it. They couldn't brush against each other without remember the pain, but also the pleasure. It was too much. So he had avoided any contact.

But that night in that abandoned house he had held her, gently kissed the top of her head, watched her sleep. And that last night in the basement they had looked into each other's eyes and he was overwhelmed with pain and guilt. She had lean into him. Raising herself on her tippy-toes, bringing her face to his. Kissing him tenderly. And then there was only her.

They had undressed each other gently. There was no tearing of clothes. No violence in their passion. Sex between them had always been more of battle than anything. Hell, he liked it rough. And she didn't seem to mind it so much either. Who was he kidding? She had fucking liked it rougher than he did. She threw him around, hurt him in all the right places, dominated him entirely. All the time they had been together, all they had done was hurt each other. Well maybe not all, but they had hurt each other enough.

But not that last night. That night they were gentle, tender, with one another. They weren't cautious, as Spike had thought they might be; they weren't afraid of one another. No, they were desperate. Desperate to really be with each other. They clung to each other as they clung to life (or undeath in his case). They made love and tried to forget that one or both of them might not make it through the next day. And, after all, he hadn't.

They had whispered their goodbyes, their bodies singing their farewell.

That last night in the basement he had murmured over and over again to her that he loved her. And she had said thank you. She had thanked him not only for his love, but for his sacrifice. But, then again, it was the same thing, wasn't it? She had thanked him, but had not loved him, not really.

She treated him like a man, and respected him as a fighter, but she did not love him.

If she had told him that she loved him that night, he probably would have believed her. But he was glad she hadn't. They had had to go be heroes. It would have been harder for him to be a Champion, to make the necessary sacrifice, if he had known that he had her to live for. It was better that she had waited until it didn't matter, it didn't mean anything, because there was no way for him, then, to turn back.

And, that was the reason he had never called. He was afraid that he was right. That she was thankful, grateful for his sacrifice, but that she did not love him. Not really. Because after everything he had give her, his body, his heart, his life, even his sodden soul (fuck, he had gotten a soul so he could give it to her), she still couldn't love him. And he bloody couldn't live with that.

So, he had never called. And he interpreted her silence as confirming his worst fears. She didn't want him. And he had tried to move on.

Now looking at her in the dim light of the bar, he wondered how he had lived without calling. How had he managed to exist without her? Why had he been such a pounce? A wanker. Such a scared little twit.

"I'm sorry," was all he could say. "I should have called you. Should have bloody risked life and limb to see you again. Even if it was only for a second, it would have been worth it. But I'm chickshit, Buffy. I'm such a jerk. I was too terrified to call. I died to save the world, big self-sacrificing heroics, you know, but I was too scared to call you. I didn't want to be that close and not have you. Again."

"Spike, I told you I love you…"

He cut her off. "You didn't mean it, love. You were just pitying a poor sodden bloke. Givin' him a little peace before he rested. It was kind of you, but it wasn't love. Not really love."

"You are a dope," she said, echoing that conversation six years ago when she had finally admitted to him, admitted to herself, how much he meant to her. When she had begun to fully acknowledge the cracks in the wall she had built up to keep him out. Just before that wall had come crashing down around her. "And you're not listening. I said that 'I told you I love you.' Not loved. Love. I still do. And trust me, I tried for the past six years not to."

"You tried for a lot longer than that," he responded. She felt a pang of guilt. She had not let herself love him. She couldn't. Not before he had a soul. She knew that and so did he. But it didn't stop her from feeling guilty about the monster she had been to him. She had used him, beat him, exploited his love for her. She had been vicious and cruel. He had been cruel too, but at that point he didn't have a soul, and she didn't even have that as an excuse.

He saw the expression on her face, the guilt and pain his little jab had caused. He looked down into his beer, "God, this is hard."

"Yeah," she answered. There was a time when she would have blamed him for everything. Played a round of kick the Spike. But she had lived six years without him, and she couldn't do that now. "Its not your fault." He looked up at her. "Not all of it anyway. Its my fault too. I should have called you, sent you a congratulations you're back from the dead card or something." She smiled nervously. "But I was terrified too."

"Terrified of what, love?" he reached up, touched her cheek. "I never exactly played hard to get, you know. Remember, no pride."

"I was terrified that you had finally figured out that I wasn't worth it. Everything I put you through. All the pain I caused you. And then I expected you to give your life for my mission."

"Our mission," he corrected her.

"Whatever. The mission. You had given so much already, I was afraid that you had finally figured out that you had given too much. That it, that I, wasn't worth all the pain that came with me."

"You've always been worth it, Buffy. Besides, I remember causing you my share with grief. What with being a puppet of the First, my chip malfunctioning, pissing off the principal." He paused, looking into her eyes with earnest intensity, "I hurt you, Buffy, in ways that I'll never be able to forgive myself for. It will haunt me the rest of my life." He looked down again, remembering that night on the bathroom floor, her cries telling, begging, him to stop, his inability to. He shuddered at the memory.

"I forgive you, Spike."

"I can't."

"You have too. You've changed. You've changed more than I thought was ever possible for a man to change. You're not the man that you were that night."

He had tried to bring her into the darkness with him, but instead, she had brought him into the light.

She reached out a touched his hand. Their eyes locked, and she leaned forward, pressing her lips against his, drinking him in, his scent, his taste, the fire of feeling his lips on hers again.

But then he drew away from her, gently, putting his hands on her shoulders. Spike looked sadly into her eyes, then took a shot of whiskey. "Isn't this just the stuff of happy endings, yeah?"

"Is there a reason, then, why you're really not making with the happiness right now?" she asked warily, confused.

He shook his head. "Buffy. God, for six years I dreamed about this. I never thought I would see you again, let alone hold you, touch you. But I can't."

"You can Spike. I'm here. No more walls. No more separation. This is for real this time. Really you. Really me. Really together."

"No. It just wouldn't be fair, you know. Buffy. Fuck, Buffy, love. Oh bloody hell. Should have said something soon. But, Buffy, theres a girl."


	9. A Girl

**Thank you so much to everyone who has been reviewing this story. I really appreciate your feedback. Sorry this chapter took me a little while to get through. I found it kind of difficult to write, so let me know what you think. Thanks again and enjoy!**

**New York 2009**

"A what?" Buffy demanded, her eyes suddenly hard. Defensive. Cold. Hurt.

Spike groaned. Looking down at the floor. "Fuck. Buffy. A girl," he mumbled.

"A girl?"

"Buffy, I'm so sorry. If I had known…"

"You have a fucking girlfriend?"

"Buffy."

"Who is she?"

"Her name is Rae."

"What is she?"

"Bloody hell, Buffy. She's a graduate student."

**New York 2006**

Spike leaned to up against the wall, waiting for her to come out of the classroom. She was a pretty girl. Beautiful really. Small, like Buffy, although not quite as thin. Her breasts were a little fuller and her hips a little rounder. But, still, she was still small. Her chocolate colored hair fell down her back in loose curls. Her skin was olive toned, tanned and warm. Her eyes were deep and green, flecked with gold. Large and almond shaped. God, since he had fallen in love with Buffy, he had a real weakness for green eyes. He couldn't look at them without being reminded of her. It comforted him, it tortured him, and he could not help but be attracted to them.

And he was drawn to this girl. She smelt of peaches and gardenias. The sent of her blood almost too sweet. Her Spike had noticed her during his first week of classes. He had sat across from her, directly opposite her at the seminar table during the two courses they were taking together. After class, he had followed her to the library, watched her as she wandered through the stacks of books. Her looks, her scent, her eyes, everything was drawing him to her. Her blood sang to him. He wanted her in a way that he had not wanted any woman since Buffy.

And it was time to move on, he figured, time find someone to fill the void in this new life of his. After all, Buffy had moved on, hadn't she? With the bleeding Immortal no less. So, he figured he would give it a go. If she turned him down, well, its not like he'd never had to face bloody rejection before.

One of the other boys in the course came out of classroom, looking behind him. "So I guess I'll see you next week then."

"See you," he heard her respond.

The boy turned, he was one of the first year MA students, Jason or John or Jim, something J and generic like that. A whelp. Seeing Spike, he looked annoyed. Well, well, apparently he wasn't the only drawn to this girl. Should have figured. Spike merely smirked and raised one eyebrow at the boy, who hurried down the hall. She came out of the room, a backpack slung over her right shoulder, and he straightened up a little.

"Rhea, right?"

She stopped short, confused. "Um. Yeah. Most people just call me Rae though. Its shorter, you know, one syllable not two." She smiled sheepishly, "But I guess the rambling explanation sort of negates any pretense at shortness."

"Rae, then. I'm William."

"I know. I've had two classes with you. Um, picked up on your name with all the paying attention and everything."

"Yeah, well I didn't meet you at orientation, so I figured I would introduce myself proper."

"I'm pretty sure that you didn't meet me at orientation because you didn't go to orientation."

"No, I didn't, because I had serious obligations." He paused, then chuckled slightly, "who am I kidding? I just didn't want to go. Seemed like a sodden waste of time."

"Well," she smiled, "it pretty much was."

"Those things usually are. Everybody making nice and playing bloody name games."

"Don't forget the roundabout campus tours and endless info sessions with their brutal Q&As. Still, gives you a chance to meet people. Learn a few names, faces."

There was a moment of silence. "So, right, want to go out for a drink, then?" he asked abruptly.

"A drink? You, um, you want to go out for a drink with me?"

"Yeah. I was talking to you, you know. Unless there are any spooks hovering about that you think I'd rather have around," he looked at her, "but I doubt that. View wouldn't be as nice with them being invisible and all."

"Thanks, I think."

Stupid git. He had insulted her. When had he become so bad at talking to women? Out of practice, he thought, really the last time he had chatted anybody up he had been under the influence of the First, and his object then had not been sex. He had flirted with Fred, but he doubted she had really bought it. And getting Harm to sleep with him that one time, well, that hardly even qualified as flirtation.

But it shouldn't be this hard. Girls like the look. Bad boy, and all, did it for some of them. He had saved quite a few women who would have loved to express their gratitude with a tumble. He had even gone back to a few of their places. Sat their awkwardly while they made coffee or drinks. But in the end he had never gone through with it. They had all seemed too fragile. So vulnerable. He would have felt like he was taking advantage. Sodden soul. He would have gotten a lot more tail if he hadn't bothered to regain it.

"You're much more fetching that most visible people, too. Just so you know. Not just the invisible ones." Judging by the look on her face, that wasn't helping. "Right, so can we go then?" She looked at him warily. "Look, I don't know anyone here, and I don't fancy going out all by my lonesome again. Thought it might be nice to have some, you know, company. And besides, its Friday night, I say its about time for a drink. Its just a pint or two. If I keep acting like a twit, going on about spirits and such, you can leave."

She smiled at him. "Actually, beer sounds inspired right now," she said. "But not because of your wonderful pickup line. Does the ghost bit work on a lot of girls? Because it seems to me like it could use a little work."

She glanced down shyly, almost afraid to meet his gaze. Those fierce blue eyes. A girl could get lost in them so easily. Enraptured. Entrapped. She did not understand his nervousness. Had he looked in a mirror recently? Didn't he know that most the women in their program, and at least half of the female professors, and some of the male, would jump into bed with him without the formality of a drink? She wouldn't. She had never been one for the bed hopping. Okay, at one point in her life she had hopped into way too many beds. But not anymore. Not after everything she had been through.

But she couldn't help but find him attractive, with his leather and his piercing blue eyes and his bad boy mystique and his chiseled cheekbones and his annoying and dangerous allure. This was probably a pretty bad idea. "Come on. I know a pretty good bar. Just have to take the 9 bus a few stops. They usually have some good microbrews on tap. Most places around here you can only get Bud or Coors Light, and then, really, whats the point? I guess most college students aren't known for their discriminating taste when it comes to alcoholic anything. This place, though, its pretty good."

"My kind of woman," he said as he followed her down the hall.

It did not take long to get to the bar. It wasn't a bad place. A bit crowded for his taste, but they did have some right good beer on tap. None of that piss that some many American establishments tried to pass of as beer. They had eventually managed to grab a table and order a few rounds of beer.

"Are you hungry? Want something to eat?" he asked her. He caught the eye of the waitress who was serving them. He ordered another round, "Have anything a fellow might eat around here? Beginning to feel a bit peckish we are." The waitress returned with the beers and the menus.

"Not much a selection," Rhea observed, pondering the laminated menu, "if you don't eat meat that is."

"You're a vegetarian are you then, love?" Great, one of those bleeding heart types.

"Yup. I haven't eaten meat in five and half years, and never before that. My mom was practically a vegan, and she didn't believe in letting me eat meat. Dairy, she let slide, as long as it came from the goats she kept. She was an old hippie, you know. Um, actually, she was a young hippie. She missed the whole summer of love thing, but she still adopted the ethos with gusto." Well, thought Spike, that explained the name. He had drunk one of those flower people once. They always did seem to have a fondness for whimsical appellations. The girl he had eaten had called herself Rainbow Waterfall, or some bollocks like that. So he guessed Rhea wasn't so bad. "When I got to college I rebelled by eating a steak. It was disgusting. Never developed a taste for meat. Besides, the way they treat those animals… its completely unethical, disgusting. I just hate it when the only option I get is salad."

"Yeah."

"Are you a vegetarian too?"

"Not even remotely. But I've been on a special diet most of my life. Liquid, you know, very specific nutritional needs. But every once in a while I like to indulged in real human food."

Rae looked up at him. "I'm sorry I didn't know. It must be so hard for you, William." She had a tenderness in her eyes, that reminded him of Joyce and Fred. She possessed the same unconditional compassion as those ladies. Maybe that was what had attracted him to her, that look of simple kindness. Joyce and Fred had not treated him like a monster, even when he had been one. Maybe Rae wouldn't either. She turned the menu over, "Oh look, they have veggie burgers. Love those."

"Sure you do," he smiled at her. "You're not only to get all squeamish if a fellow orders some animal to eat, are you? A man needs his meat. Mans a natural predator, you know. Eyes in the front of his head. Predators, hunters look forward," he leaned in towards her, "its so they can focus on their prey, the hunt, the chase, the kill."

"You hunt, then?" she asked nervously. A shiver ran down her spine as his eyes bore into her. He wasn't talking about blowing the brains out of a pheasant, rabbit, or some sweet little doe-eyed deer. She knew it. Felt it. She found him frightening, but in a hot, kind of seductive kind of way. This was a very bad idea.

"Used to. Then I had a change of heart. Or rather a change of head and then of heart. Now I just settle for what I can get at the butcher shop. Takes all the fun out of it, but I couldn't hunt anymore. Wasn't right. Besides, my ex didn't approve. She wasn't a vegetarian or anything. She was just good."


	10. What you are

**New York 2009**

"You're dating a fucking graduate student?"

"Yeah, Buffy. She's a sweet girl…"

Buffy cut him off. "Does she know who, what, you are? Does she know you're a monster?" she demanded.

Spike clenched his fists. "I'm not a monster anymore, Slayer. You've said so yourself. I was, but I've changed."

"You're still a vampire, Spike. According to most people that makes you a monster."

"Well, guess Rae isn't most people, then."

"Then she knows. Who you are. What you are."

"Course she knows. I've been with girl for three fucking years. That's one hell of a secret to keep for that long. Eventually with the no reflection, no sunlight, and fridge full of blood even the daftest bint's bound to start asking questions. And Rae's not by any means daft."

**New York 2006**

They started going out together for beer after the two classes they had together. He liked her. She was sweet, kind, really, and he was undeniably drawn to her. She was unlike any other woman he had been with. Nothing like Dru or Harmony, who were completely evil. Not to mention crazy and stupid. She was different from Buffy, too. She wasn't as strong as Buffy. But she also wasn't as righteous, as bossy. She didn't have the certainty of fate and destiny behind her ethics. But she wasn't ashamed of him. But she was timid. Too timid sometimes. Nervous. Made him nervous too. He didn't want to push things too hard, too far. Didn't want to frighten her away.

Spike finished his beer. "You up for another round, pet?"

Rae smiled. "I still have half my beer left. Order another one if you want, but I think this it for me for the night. I want to actually walk out of here tonight, plus a long trip home, and if I try to keep up with you, that's not going to happen."

"Maybe one more." He slid off his seat and walked up to the bar. Rae watched him while he walked away, taking another sip of her beer. He got the bartender's attention pretty quickly, but then she figured that those blue eyes and impossible cheekbones got most women's attention pretty quickly. When she looked back up he was walking back toward her, two pints in hand. He sat back down. "One for the road, you know."

She laughed. "One for the road, you live ten minutes from here. That's quite the journey. Do you think you'll make it?" she smiled.

"Heres hoping," he said, raising his first glass and downing almost half of it.

They sat in the bar for another hour, finishing their beer, talking about their classes, professors, and literature, the latest thing she had heard about on Fresh Air, her visit to the Botanical Gardens that afternoon. She visited the gardens almost every day. She liked to find an isolated place to sit and read, surrounded only by the foliage. A small space of peace within the constant movement of city life.

She loved talking about history, but she mentioned her past only briefly, usually making only vague allusions to the things that had come before. Only glimpses into her past. But he didn't pry. After all, he never mentioned his. He couldn't. Not without explanations that he didn't think he was ready to give and she was ready to hear.

They finished their beer. "What do you say we get out of here love?"

She checked the time on her phone; she didn't ever wear a watch, "Yeah, its late. I should be getting home."

"I thought maybe we could stop off at my place, you know, for coffee or tea or something," he finished lamely, trying to sound casual.

Bollocks, he was nervous. Maybe he should have been more direct. Stupid, he thought, what are you going to say, want to come back to my place for the first shag I've had in three and a half years? Harmony didn't really count, after all, she had started crying blood and tried to kill him, and before he had even gotten his rocks off good and proper. He should just grab her and start kissing her. That's when he was at his best, when he was following his blood, which, as he had noted, did not usually flow in the direction of his brain. Had it been a different girl, some cheap tart he was just using for a tumble, using to get off, he would. He would just grab her, push her up against the wall and crush his mouth against hers. Hell, that's what he wanted to do now. But Rae wasn't a tart. She was a good girl, a lady, she had class, and he was going to have to do this right. Besides, he didn't want to scare her off. He wasn't sure how she would react.

God, he hated making himself feel vulnerable. He was the bloody big bad. Why did little girls always have the power to scare the shit out of him?

Because even the big bad was afraid of rejection, he admitted grudgingly. Hell, he had enough of it during his life and afterward.

"Yeah, sure," she smiled warmly, "Its not that late." She pulled on her coat, and hopped off the bar stool. He pulled on his black leather duster.

"Bollocks" he swore, "Sorry, love, I got to a take a piss." Not really. But after all, he was playing the human. And he had consumed eight beers. Probably ought to have nipped off to the loo way before now.

"That would the one for the road," she teased him. "I'll wait outside for you."

When he came out for the bar, she was gone. Stupid, he thought, buggered that up. Should have just skipped the lav and the lousy leak. Doubt she would have noticed. But it didn't seem like her to just leave, though. He scented the air. She was near by and she was afraid. Then he heard a man's voice, "Who left such a tasty little bite out here all by herself."

He heard Rae, "Get the fuck way from me." There was a defiant edge to her tone, but her voice caught in her throat. Her fear betraying itself through the tremor of the words. The almost hysterical rise of her pitch. He had heard that kind of fear more times than he liked to remember.

"Oh, I don't think so," he heard another man's voice. "You look too scrumptious."

Spike was already moving into back into the alley. "Piss off, mates, this birds mine. And, by the way, who the fuck says scrumptious. You can't be serious."

"You don't know what you're dealing with… mate," the first man turned around, he was already in vamp face.

"No," he paused, "mate, you don't know what your dealing with. I'm the fucking big bad around here, and I said, that the bird is mine. Sod off," he punched him in the nose, hard. The vamp, caught off guard, was flung two the ground. The other vampire was already on him and got in a good punch to his cheek. Spike vamped out. Returning the punch, pulling a stake out from his coat, he pierced him through the heart, the attacker erupting into a cloud of dust. The first vamp rushed at him, Spike punched him a few times before dusting him too.

"Now that's what I'm talking about," he said, gleefully enjoying the bit of violence, "What a pair of wankers. Thought they could take William the fucking Bloody? Though they could nab a taste of my girl, did they? Couple of fucking ninnies, they are, or rather, were" he smirked and turned around. Then he remembered his girl, who remained crumpled against the back wall of the alley.

He quickly moved to where Rae was cowering. Not hurt, he breathed a small sigh of relief, but terrified. "Rae. Are you okay, love?" He offered her his hand. She didn't move. She looked horrified he could smell the fear on her. He realized he still had his vamp face on. He shook it off. "Rae, come on, lets get you home."

"W-w-what the fuck were they? What the fuck are you, William?"


	11. Trust

**New York 2009**

"So, what? You just told her you were a vampire and she was okay with that?"

"Well, no, not exactly. She was scared shitless at first. She's not like you or me, Buffy. She knew nothing about the night we live in, and she was in no way prepared to move in herself. So, yeah, she was scared, terrified really, at first. Not an easy thing to learn that nightmares are real, you know."

"Oh, I know all too well. I was scared at first, too, Spike. The first time I saw a vamp. I was young and I was terrified. But this vamp was trying to kill me not fuck me. So I got over it really quickly. Stopped with the quaking, started with the staking." She did not know why she was bringing this up. She was being illogical. She recognized that, at least. But why did he, why did everyone, always have to insist that she was so strong? She didn't want to be strong, and she didn't feel strong at this moment. No. She felt like crawling away. Like giving up. Like embracing death for one more and final time.

Well, if he wanted strong, hard, resilient, cold Buffy, he would get her. She had once feared that she was becoming too hard. That she couldn't love. Well, she would become that hard again. Harder. If that was the price of strength, then so be it. She would become too hard to love. It might be a great place, but it was a place where at lease she didn't feel so hurt. She would not feel anything at all. It would be worth it not to feel like this.

Her love for him had sustained her the past six years, now she would have to rely on her hate of him. Except that she didn't hate him. Not really. Not yet. But she would. She would steel herself against him. Against love. She would be cold and hard, but at least she would be safe. And right now that was all she really wanted.

She felt completely deceived by him. Mortified. Destroyed. She had to not feel like this. No matter what it took she would not feel betrayed, humiliated, hurt. And she would not feel jealous. If this stupid little slut wanted him, then she could have him. Buffy was done with him. Done with love. Done with life. Done with everything. She was so finished with all of this angst and pain. She just wanted out.

"Buffy. I'm sorry. I didn't mean… I'm so…"

"Don't," Buffy coldly cut him off. "Do not say you are sorry, Spike. Not again. I just can't believe you could do this to me. I loved you. I trusted you. Maybe not the whole time, but in the end I trusted you with the world, with my heart."

**New York 2006**

"Come on, Rae. Please. Lets just get you home," Spike urged her. A tangle of hair had fallen into her face, and he gently smoothed it back. She drew away from his touch.

At this point, people were drifting out from the bar to see what the commotion had been about. "Please, let's get out of here. I'll explain, but not here, not in front of all these people."

"Are you okay, miss? Is this guy bothering you?" she heard a man ask from a distance.

"Please, Rae, Rhea. I'll explain," he murmured, loud enough for only her to hear. Holding her shoulders, god, she was trembling, he peered into her face. She was paralyzed with fear. "Rae, please," he implored. "We have to get out of here."

"Miss," the same voice inquired.

"She's fine," Spike assured the man. "No problem here." He had to get her out of here. He needed to get her somewhere safe. Somewhere where they could talk. Where he could explain.

The man took a step closer. "I think you might be the problem," he said, the edge of accusation in his voice.

"And I think you should just mind your own business. The bird's fine." Bloody hell, he needed her to be stronger. To play it cool and get out of there. To not be so sodden weak and paralyzed with fear. "Rhea, come on girl," he tighten his grip on her shoulders. "Don't fucking do this," he hissed. "Bloody hell, woman, snap out of it. I haven't hurt you yet, and I don't plan to, but we need to get the fuck out of here."

The man peered further down the alley. "Miss? You want me to call the cops?"

She shook her head. "N-no," she managed to say. "There were two men, um, muggers, I think. He scared them off."

"That's my girl," Spike murmured, relieved. At least, the girl had pulled herself together. Sure it took her until the last possible second, but she came through in the end. He couldn't, shouldn't, blame her. Not really. It had been a pretty abrupt introduction to the nasties of the world. No wonder she was terrified. Most of the women he had rescued the past few years had been. He shouldn't have expected her to be any different just because he had taken a fancy to her. He shouldn't have expected her to be like Buffy.

"You sure, miss. If this guy is hurting you. I can get you help."

"No," she looked at Spike, for the since the attack seeming to really see him. Her eyes full of questions, full of fear. "I, um, I was frightened. He's not hurting me. He saved me. From them. Um, from those other men."

"If you're sure miss. I can't make you to get help. But don't stay with this son-of-a-bitch until it's too late. You don't want to get hurt for real. I've got a brother with the force. I can get you help. I can take care of you."

"Why don't you back off, mate?" Spike glared at the man. "This is really none of your business. Girl says she's fine. She's fine. You're the one who is starting to get a little pushy. Overbearing, you know. I might have to call your bobbies on you. Harassment. Now piss off, you busy git."

"Fine," the man put his hands in front of him, palms spread. "But I warned you miss. This guy is trouble. I can sense it coming off of him. He is dangerous." With that the man, turned and walked back into the bar, the remaining crowd loosing interest and following him.

"You have no idea how close to danger you were, stupid twit," Spike muttered. Sodden imbeciles trying to play the hero. Captain cardboard types. Probably just wanted to get into Rae's pants. Acting the part of the big strong manly man to spread the poor distressed damsel's legs. God, he couldn't stand gits like that. They wouldn't last a day as heroes. Wouldn't be able to stand against the horrors of the world for real. He turned to girl beside him. "You okay, love?"

She punched him, cracking him in the nose. "Ow," she yelled, shaking her hand. "Motherfucker that hurt."

"Oh bloody hell," he roared. "Why do you bints always go for the bloody nose?" Then, he noticed the pained expression on her face. He tried not to smile "What's wrong love?"

She looked down at the ground. "I've never punched anyone, didn't realized how much it would hurt."

He tenderly took her hand. "You're lucky. Doesn't seem broken. Punching like that you could do some serious damage, to yourself, I mean. I think I'll have to teach you a thing or two about self-defense, pet. Otherwise you'll end up doing the work of the baddies for them. Hurting yourself. Make their job that much easier. You're already a tasty enough treat, don't need to make yourself more inviting to whatever monsters wander your way."

"This is so not okay," she said, pulling her hand away.

He looked at her, confused, "What do you mean?"

"You can't talk to me like this. Not after… what just happened. And what did just happen, William? What the fuck was that? What the fuck were they? What the fuck happened to your face?"

"Lets go back to my place, we need to talk." She looked at him warily. "Do you trust me?" he asked. 

She thought for a moment, then sighed, "I do," she said slowly, "But I'm not sure I should."

"But you do?" She nodded. "Then give me a chance to explain. It's one hell of a horror story."


	12. Life and Undeath Story

**New York 2009**

Spike's jaw clenched. "Now, let's get something straight, Slayer. This is not something I did to you, its something I did for me. It wasn't about you at all. Not everything is about you, you know. You were the center of my world for a long time, Buffy. But I died to save that world, and even after that you didn't want me."

"You didn't give me a fucking chance to want you. Did, you?"

"And that might have been my mistake. But you bloody well made mistakes, too, Summers. You can't blame me for this. Not entirely. Not absolutely. Not anymore. It's your sodden fault just as much as it is mine."

"No, Spike. It's not my fault. I'm not the one who shacked up and moved on. I died that day too. I just didn't recover as quickly. Maybe it's because I wasn't dead already."

"Get off your fucking high horse, Slayer. You've died and come back as many times as I have. The only difference is that you never really let yourself live. I may be dead, but at least I'm not terrified of life."

**New York, 2006**

He had told her everything. He had told her about Cecily, about London in 1880, about his mother. He had told her about Dru, the promises she had made him in that alley, the way her fangs had felt in his neck, her blood in his veins. He told her about Angelus and Darla, about the Immortal and Italy. He told her about the Boxer Rebellion and his Nazi captivity. He told her about his time in New York during the 70s. Then he told her about Sunnydale, about Giles, Xander, Red, Tara, Dawn, Anya, and Joyce. He told her about Harmony, Faith, Riley, and Robin. He told her about Adam, Glory, the Trio, the First. He told her about the potentials. He told her about the chip in his head and the soul he had won. He told her about L.A., about his stint as a ghost, about fighting with and fighting beside Angel. And he told her about slayers. He told her about the two slayers he had killed and the one he loved. He told her about Buffy, about how he had won his soul for her, about how he had died for her to save the world, about how she hadn't even bloody called her when he came returned from whatever hell dimension he had been stuck in.

It took him over two hours, but he told her everything. Accounted his whole history. His entire life and undeath story. When he finished talking, they sat in silence for five minutes. She was trying to digest everything he had told her, and it was plenty to stomach, he didn't want to push her. She seemed to believe him, which was honestly more than he had hoped for. Telling his story, like that, to someone so far away from Sunnydale and L.A., the whole west coast hellhole, he realized how sodden ridiculous it all sounded. She would either think he was a deranged serial killer or a complete loony; he wasn't sure which one would be preferable at this point.

After about five minute, she spoke, "I think I need a drink. I feel like I've just gone down the rabbit hole or something."

He obliged, getting a bottle of whiskey and two shot glasses. "Alice, welcome to Wonderland. Or Underworld. Or whatever."

"If I hadn't been in that alley tonight," she continued, "I wouldn't believe a word that you just said. But I was. And I know what you saw. You're face, those guys' faces… with the fangs and the lumpies…" she trailed off. "I mean, as an undergrad I took a class on vampires in lit and film. You're just supposed to be a metaphor."

"We're a bit more flesh than figurative, sorry to disappoint. It's a bit unsettling finding out that all those beasties are really going bump in the night, isn't it love?" He raised his shot glass, "So, here's to the beasties and the bumps."

She raised hers, too, watched him shoot his back, before doing the same herself. "So, vampire. That means you drink blood, no?" He nodded. "But what about all the food I've seen you eat, all the beer I've seen you drink."

"I was honest with you about that. Sometimes a fellow just feels like some real human food and sometimes he needs a drink."

She groaned, leaning her head in her hands, pushing the hair out of her face, "But I'm a vegetarian. I'm just not sure vegetarian and vampire are compatible, you know?"

He laughed, "What's wrong with that. You can be a bleeding heart, and I'll just do some bleeding. Don't worry, pet, I only feed on free-range humans. All humanely raised. Very ethical." She looked at him warily. Balls, he thought. Not a good time for jokes about eating people. "Not you. I haven't tasted human blood in long, long time. An eternity it feel like," he paused. Then qualified his assurance, "Well, I tasted Cordelia, but that was only to make sure she wasn't evil. And the principal, but he bloody had it coming. And all that bollocks with the First. But that wasn't me. Not really. And I'm not about to fall off the wagon. Nope, only animal blood for me. Not so different from eating meat. If you could tolerate me eating a steak, the blood bit shouldn't be an issue. Besides, not really a lifestyle choice, you know, being a vampire."

She laughed at the absurdity of it all, the alcohol starting to loosen her up a bit. "Yeah, I suppose dietary ethics are probably not the main concern." She paused. "Why don't all vampires subsist on animal blood then?"

"Because it's just that: subsistence. There is no pleasure in it, no joy. Plus, it tastes like shit compared with the real deal."

"But don't you constantly crave it?"

"I do. Its like you wanting a cheeseburger. You might want to eat it, because you know damn well that it tastes better than those sodden veggie burgers you pretend to fancy. But you don't, because you couldn't stomach it, morally."

"So, its like _Twilight_, then?"

"Oh balls," he rolled his eyes. "Yes, its like that. Except I'm not a complete wanker." A couple of demons at a bar he frequented for a while in Phoenix, sensing his soul, took a fancy to calling him Cullen. After he had killed two, they untook the fancy right quick. But he had been curious, so he had nicked a copy of the stupid book. He had read about half of it and then thrown it against the wall of the warehouse where he was squatting, leaving it to rot like the rubbish it was. Pouncy sparkly buggers prancing around giving his kind a bad name. All tortured and brooding, with their sodden Anne Rice routine. They were as bad as bloody Angel. "And when I go out in the sun, I don't get all glittery. I burst into flames. So I hope you don't fancy sunny afternoons in a field of flowers, because you'll spending that with a pile of ash. Not quiet as romantic as diamond boy, but at least I'm not a brooding bugger with stupid hair."

She laughed again. "Okay, will note that vampires do not like references to best selling Y.A. fiction. Got it." She took another shot of whiskey; he had poured one for each of them. "So what are you doing here?"

"What do you mean? I live here. We are in my apartment, you know, love."

"No, I mean here as in school. You're a fucking vampire, why waste your time with a PhD in English literature?"

"I got bored. I've got all of eternity ahead of me, pet. Need to do something to pass the time."

"You're lying. You don't just enroll in a program like this on a whim. Its way to much work for one thing."

He looked at her, tilting his head to the side, surprised that she had read him so well. "Well, no, I guess it's not just because I was bored. You better not poke fun, or I'll bite you. I'm here because of my soul. After everything went down with Angel and the Senior Partners, I left LA. Had to get out of that fucking city. So I roamed around for a while. Fighting evil wherever I found it. But there was something missing, you know. There was no beauty, no poetry, in my life. When I was William, the William before I was sired, I adored art, things of beauty, poetry. I wrote it, you know. Bloody bad poetry, it was, but it was go at capturing some of the beauty I saw in the world. Anyway, I was roaming around, fighting the good fight. But there was no meaning, no real mission, no real purpose. I was doing good, but it was just wandering about. No direction, you know. I needed to do something for my soul, I guess, so I had a demon friend forge up some documents and I came here. Plenty of nasties in this big bad city, I'm still in the fight against evil and everything. Haven't gone soft or turned into a poofter or anything. I just needed to something to feed my soul. God, if any of the California crew were to see me here… never did have much of a reputation for being a thinker, you know."

She was looking at him, her lips pursed together. "That's why we're all here, William. We're certainly aren't doing this because of the bright financial futures awaiting us. We're all doing this for our souls. I guess the only difference is that we've all had ours all along."

"Yeah, well, that's why I'm here. And if you tell anyone I will bite you."

"It does explain some things though, you being a vampire," she said, ignoring his last threat. Would it hurt her to be a little afraid that he might actually do it? She had been so terrified before. He guessed the liquid courage was well at work. If only she had held things together a little when it counted. That was close. Too damn close for his liking. But, it was over now. And at least she hadn't run away from him. Not yet anyway.

"Like what?" he demanded. "I'll have you know, I think I do pretty well blending with you human types."

"Blending?" she demanded. "Didn't think the whole Billy Idol you have going was in the interest of blending. It makes you fairly conspicuous, you know. Not much leather and peroxide among your colleagues."

"I'll have you know, he stole that look from me. It was mine first. And sorry, love, tweed doesn't suit me. Tried it once. Didn't take. Forgot who I was, although that was mostly because of the damned little witch and her wonky mojo. Anyway, doesn't work with my coloring. Or the lack there of. Being dead and all, you tend to get washed out easily. And don't even think I'd ever be caught dead in a sweater vest. Stake me before you try to shove me into one of those."

"That is really so not the point, William."

"Alright, then, enlighten me. How have I not done a good job blending? You bloody well didn't suspect a thing."

"No, I didn't. But, to be fair, I don't spend most of my time pondering the supernatural identity of any of my classmates. Well, at least I didn't. Maybe now it will take up a bit more of my time. The whole vampire thing, though, it does explain your interest in Victorian lit."

"Victorian lit? That's the big puzzle you have been trying to suss out?"

"Well, yeah, it never made sense. I mean, a bad ass like you. I got the whole interest in twentieth century apocalyptic and war literature, your focus on violence in lit and film. That fit your image, your personality, your persona. But Victorian literature didn't. It makes sense though, William. If you're one of them, a Victorian, I mean."

"Don't worry, love, I haven't been one of those twits for a long time. Got myself out of the repressed frilly cuffs and collars crowd soon as I was turned. Ate a few of them, though. And you can call me Spike. I haven't been William in over a hundred years." He poured them each another shot. After swinging his back, he leaned in closer to her. "What else does it explain about me, pet?"

"Well…" she said thinking. "You know, that I've never seen you out in the daylight. Which I never noticed before, but now that I think about it, I never have." She gulped down her shot.

"Right, the bursting into flames thing. Puts a damper on sunlight."

"And," she continued, ignoring his answer, "you know the whole dangerous allure, you have going for you."

"Dangerous allure?" he raised an eyebrow.

"Well yeah, Spike," she said, trying out is sobriquet. "The whole vampire thing is kinda sexy. As long as you're not going to eat me. You're not going to eat me, are you?" she finished nervously.

"I'm not." He grinned wickedly, "Not like that anyway. But still you think I'm dangerous?" he asked, cocking his head and starting at, through her, she felt with a shudder, with those piercing blue eyes.

"Well yeah. You're a vampire right? Pretty much comes with the territory. Though I thought you were dangerous when I just thought you were a typical human bad boy."

"I've always been bad. The big bad." He held her with his gaze and leaned closer to her. "And you find that, what did you say, alluring?"

Rae looked down shyly, a blush rising in her cheeks. "Well yeah. Vampires are all about sex, right? I mean the sexual subtext in _Dracula_…"

"Drac is a pounce," he interrupted. "Can't stand that bugger. And he is not at all sexy. With that stupid cape and fake accent, he comes off as pretentious Eurotrash of the worst kind, believe me. Not to mention that he sold out to a twit who couldn't write worth a damn. The book is bloody awful. At least Ruthven and Carmilla found fucking decent authors to sell out to."

"You really don't care for vampire fiction, do you?"

"Well no. Gives people all kinds of daft notions about us. Plus it's full of sodden stereotypes and insulting rubbish. Who knows how half the authors make up that bollocks."

"Well at least they got the hotness factor right. Granted, I don't know many vampires, but you seem to support the sexy vampire stereotype."

Spike smirked, "Well, some stereotypes do have a bit of truth behind them," he purred. He leaned closer to her, gently lifting her chin, brushing his lips against hers.

She wasn't Buffy. It didn't feel like kissing Buffy. It couldn't. Nothing could, he'd wager. But it was nice. So he deepened the kiss, pulling her closer to him, first running his tongue against her lower lip, then sliding it into her mouth. It was nice. And when he had picked her up and carried her into the bedroom, undressed her, pleasured her, penetrated her, and came inside her, well, that was nice too.


	13. Demons

**New York 2009**

"What the hell is that supposed to mean, Spike."

"You know what it means. You're terrified to live because you're a little bit in love with death. You're afraid to really be alive because a part of you wants it all to end. Part of you wants to die. You crave it. And that scares you shitless."

Buffy laughed harshly. "Thanks, doc. Done with the psychobabble yet? I walk in a nightmare every night, genius. If I were afraid I wouldn't have made it as long as I have. And if I really wanted to die, I would have. But nothing has been able to kill me or keep me dead. Not yet, anyway. I'm very much with the survival, Spike. And I'm not afraid. Not of you. Not of the big baddies out there. Not of death. "

"Bullshit, Buffy. I've seen the fear in your eyes before. Whether you want to admit it or not, you've been terrified, Summers. If fact, I'd wager you thrive on it. But I'm not talking about the beasties you battle. I'm talking about those demons on the inside. The ones we've all got. The ones that all the stakes and fists and battle axes can't beat back. That's what scares you. "

"And you would know all about those, wouldn't you," Buffy shot back sarcastically.

Spike swallowed back his anger. "As a matter of fact I would. But just because your demon doesn't wear a separate face doesn't mean that you don't bloody have one too. We all do, Buffy. That's what makes us human."

**New York 2006 **

That was the first time they had gone to bed together. During the first year, that was how they always referred to it 'going to bed.' They avoided the crudity of 'fucking,' the sentiment of 'making love,' and the banality of 'sex.' It was one of the necessary walls they erected at the start of their relationship. The phrase contained the necessary paradox of intimacy and distance.

He was lying on his back; she was on her side, her head on his shoulder, his arm around her.

They didn't say anything for a few minutes. He could hear her heart pounding. The sex had been good, nice. It had felt right in a way that he had not been expecting.

He was the first to break the silence. "You okay, pet. This wasn't too much for you to take in?"

She glanced down, her eyes moving down his naked torso to his cock, which was still partially erect, her gaze lingering for a moment before she answered. "Too much. No, I'd say it was just right." He raised an eyebrow. "Oh you meant finding out you were a vampire and then having supernatural sex. No. I'm dealing. It's totally insane. But for some reason I'm not anywhere near and frightened or wigged as I should be. I'm thirsty though, is it okay if I get a glass of water?" she asked, getting up from the bed.

He looked at her. Her hair was mussed, an unruly tangle of curls, her lips had that swollen just kissed look. There were red welts on her hips and ass from his hands, and there was red bite marks on her neck and breasts and inner thighs. Dull tooth bites, no blood, but still, he'd have to be gentler with her. Her olive toned skin bruised so easily. She looked like she had just taken a bit of a nasty tumble. She looked beautiful, ravishingly just ravaged.

"I'll get it for you, pet. Relax."

"I don't mind. I'm already up." She walked from the room, and he heard her open up the kitchen cabinets, fortunately he had some glasses, something to drink blood out of beside novelty mugs he had come to prefer because they reminded him of Buffy. He lit up a cigarette, taking a long drag. He heard the tap turn on, run for a few second, and fill up a pint glass. Rae came back into the room, taking a sip of the water. She had a joint in her hand.

"Do you mind?" she asked, holding up the marijuana cigarette.

"Not at all, love. Vampire, remember. Evil. I can hardly harbor moral qualms against a little bud."

"I wasn't sure. Being all reformed and all. Figured you were a good law abiding citizen."

He smirked. "Hardly. Old habits die hard, love, 'specially when you've been around forever."

She placed the glass on the table beside his bed and laid down back down beside him. He held the flame of his lighter to her joint. She puffed on the end of it, allowing the reefer to ignite, before taking a long hit, holding the smoke in her lungs before exhaling. He put his arm around her again.

"What about you, love? Any old bad habits need breaking?"

She looked up at him. "Used to. There was while, you know… but not any more…." she trailed off. "Except this maybe," she offered his the joint. He placed his cigarette in the ashtray next to his bed and took a drag. It had been a while since he had smoked weed, or eaten someone who had just smoked.

"No, actually I don't. Know I mean. Don't know much about you at all." He tilted his head to the side, narrowing his eyes slightly, adopting that expression that looked right through her. "What's your story, pet?" He passed the joint back to her. "Is there a reason why you've been so quiet about your past? I wager you can figure why I never shared any stories about my childhood, but what's your deal?"

"Oh no," she said with a laugh. "There is no way I can follow up your story. Totally not fair. I'm just a girl. Nothing supernatural, no vampires, no supervillains, no Slayers, no resurrections. I can't compete."

"There is something about you. I'm not sure what. But there is something. So, tell me. Where do you come from, pet? What are you? Because bloody hell woman, you're not just a girl."

"I can't tell you. There are some things I'd rather you not know. Certain things I'm not proud of."

"What? Afraid you'll scare me away?" he snorted. "Let's hear it, pet. How many families did you massacre? How many little girls did you kill? I've been a right demon, love. I think I've got you pretty well bested in the guilt-ridden ashamed of the past category."

She shuddered and then smiled, slightly, an ineffectual attempt to cover the fear that had just coursed through her. "See. Can't compete."

"I showed you mine, now its time for you to do the showing."

She blushed, "You've pretty much seen everything I've got."

"Spill," he passed the joint back to her.

"Fine," she said, taking another hit off the spliff, "but be warned, boringness ahead."

"Just elbow me if I start drifting off," he teased, as he took the joint from her and took a drag.

She smiled. "Well lets see. I grew up in Colorado, the foothills of the Rocky Mountains. I lived a pretty secluded life for a pretty long time. It was just me and my mom. My dad ran off or something. Mom never talked about him much, and I never asked. We had a farm. My mom owned fifteen acres, had five planted. Don't know where she got most her money from. I guess at that point I was too young to really worry about real estate or finances. The rest of our property remained uncultivated, wild. I would spend all summer helping my mom in the garden or rambling through the forests. During the winter she home schooled me. She had grown up imbibing all the old hippie doctrines, and she didn't want me learning from the man. She was afraid I would turn into a Republican or something. See pretty uneventful. Boring."

"Not at all, pet." He passed her the joint.

The roach as almost gone. She puffed on it, holding the smoke in her lungs for a few seconds, handing it back to him as she exhaled the sweet smoke of marijuana. "You can finish it," she offered, "There is only a hit or two left. It wasn't a bad way to grow up, I guess. I liked the animals the best. We had cats and dogs, some goats for milk. And horses. We had always had horses."

"I was wondering where you learned to ride like that, pet," he interrupted.

"Oh God. If you are going to be lewd, Spike, can you at least try not being clichéd lewdness. I think that one is in every psychoanalytic handbook."

"Oi! Nothing to get knickers in a twist about, love, I won't forget to feed your pony," he smirked, resting his hand between her legs, slipping two fingers inside of her and rubbing his palm against her clit. She trembled and moaned at his touched. "So," he purred, "horses."

"I think that's enough talking for now."

"Not getting off that easily," he grinned wickedly at his double entendre and pulling his hand away.

"Fine. But that was pretty much my life for the first eleven years. Farming, forests, sunshine and the wild. My mom made sure that I was learning things even during the summer. Not the things that were in books, but all of the lessons Nature could teach me. That's how she phrased it. So she taught me Nature's secrets, what sort of wild mushrooms one could eat, the songs of the birds, how to coax a garden from a seed.

"When I was eleven all of that changed. One day a man showed up at our house. It was someone I had not ever seen before. We didn't have many visitors, except for a neighbor who took some of our extra produce and goat cheese into Denver to sell at a farmer's market, which brought in a little money. So I was scared. I did not like this strange man. It was instinct, I guess. Super Oedipal, I know, but from the moment I saw him I hated him. I hid in the house. I watched him greet my mom, but I could not read their gestures. Then my mom came inside and called to me. I came, but only reluctantly. 'Rae,' she said gently, and then she told me that this strange man was my father. 'He is going to be staying with us for a few days,' she told me.

"He stayed much longer than that.

"He lived with us for a month, and then he took us back to Chicago, where he lived. He was a lawyer. One of the higher ups in a pretty big firm."

"Sodden lawyers," Spike growled.

"Don't care much for our justice system?"

"System isn't bad, just all the fucking attorneys in it. Sorry, love, had a bad experience with the legal types. I'm sure your old man was a decent one though."

She looked concerned. "I'm not so sure. The firm he was working for, Spike, I don't think they were on the up and up. Wolf or Ham or something. I can't remember."

"Wolfram and Hart?"

"Yeah, that was it, I think."

"Oh bloody hell. They weren't just not up and up, pet, they are down right evil. And this is coming from a vampire, yeah. Know a little something about evil."

"Yeah, well I wasn't happy about the move. Evil lawyers or no. Chicago wasn't my home. And I hated it there. Hated him. I just wanted to move back to my farm, my horses, my home with my mom. I didn't like the city. I got used to it, of course. I mean 'the city' in the abstract. Kinda have to, living here, you know. But I think part of my heart will always be in the country, where I grew up. Part of me will always think of that as home." She looked at the clock next to Spike's bed. It was almost four in the morning. "And speaking of home. I had better be getting there now. I have two kitties probably starving to death," she got out of the bed, and started looking around the room for her clothes.

"Cats? You are gonna leave me for cats?" he asked her, raising an eyebrow.

"They probably need food and water. Besides, its getting really late. Way too late." She pulled up her jeans.

He had gotten out of the bed too, and had come up behind her, running his hands down her bare arms. "All the more reason not to leave, pet. Spend the night. Or what's rest of it."

She turned to face him. "I would like to, but I can't."

"Didn't figure you as the crazy cat lady type, love." He smiled wickedly. "Or should I call you kitten." He cocked an eyebrow as she scowled at him. "How about pussy? My little pussy cat?" He smirked, leering at her, particularly relishing the words, his voice seductively caressing each syllable.

Rae blushed a deep red. "I think I should probably go before you get any more obscene."

"Fine. Then, I'll come with you."

"Oh, that's very sweet of you. But you don't have to."

"Yeah, I do. Bet you that most anything milling around out there at this time of night is probably up to no good. A tasty bit like you, bet they wouldn't mind having you for nibbles. I know I wouldn't. And I don't fancy you putting yourself in any danger. Especially not before I have some time to teach you some self-defense. You need to learn how to throw a punch, kitten."

"But you probably won't have time to make it back here before the sun rises. I live in Brooklyn. It's a much longer trip than you'd expect."

"That's fine by me. I can think of something to pass the time, pussy cat." He paused, suddenly unsure of himself. "That is, if you don't have any objections. I mean, I don't have class or anything tomorrow."

She smiled warmly. "That would be nice. If you're sure you don't mind. But I do have some homework to get done. But if you think you can behave yourself," he looked at her pointed, "for the most part anyway. At least while I get my reading done…" she trailed off.

"My, my, aren't we the student. Got some homework myself," he smirked. "Got go over _Much Ado About Nothing_ again. Its been a while. Want to make sure I'm not neglecting anything."

"Please tell me you're not making a Shakespearian vagina joke."

He shrugged. "Caught that did you?"

She laughed. "You've just gone from big bad to big dork. I hope you know that."

"That's what a soul does to you, kitten."


	14. Origins

**New York 2009**

"You're not human, Spike," she was falling back on old punches. Familiar ways to hurt. She saw the customary way he braced against the sting. The old hurt expression in his eyes. She didn't care. She wanted to hurt him. Hurt him the way he had hurt her. And she still remembered the best ways to insult, to injure. It was a dance they had danced for so long, it was easy for her to fall back into its rhythm.

"I'm human enough now to know that we have a choice. We can fight those demons back." He let out a short, sarcastic laugh. "You told me that. Once. When you were in one of your pleasanter moods, I guess. I fought back. I won my soul. I fucking changed, Buffy. I know that. And as much as you might deny it, you bloody well know that too."

"So what if you have changed, Spike. Say you have. It doesn't change things between us. You hurt me. You betrayed me. And you waited until now to tell me about your little girlfriend. Soul or no soul Spike, I can't, won't, forgive you for hurting me like that."

**New York, 2006**

As they walked to the nine train, Rae continued her story. The streets were empty. Or nearly empty. There were a few stragglers. A couple coming home from bars, staggering as the moved down the sidewalk. In this city there was always someone about. The city that never sleeps. That's why vamps fancied it so much. Wasn't quite as exciting as the Hellmouth. Not quite as much evil in the air. But it was always easy to nab a quick snack. No matter what time of the night it happened to be.

"Now where were you?" he prompted her.

"Chicago. I'm going to give you the cliff notes version. This is getting too long. We had been living in Chicago about two years when my mom got really sick. I had noticed a difference in her. She had grown frailer. Older looking. When we had lived on the farm she had always seemed so young, so full of life. I guess part of it was probably because I was growing up too. Going through puberty, starting to see the world, my mother, differently. Realizing that things were changing. Anyway, she got sick. She was fading away and then one day she was just gone. Not dead, but vanished. I never saw her again. When I was old enough to drive and got my license I drove to our old farm, hoping, I guess, that I would find her there. But she wasn't. I found traces of her. Her suitcase and she had planted some new things, a new tree in front of the house, which I guess was strange. But she was always weird about plants. Part of being a flower child, I guess. Anyway. She was gone. And there was no sign of her."

They had arrived at the Subway station and were waiting for a train.

"Most have been hard, losing your mum like that."

"It was. You know its funny. Most of the time when people say that you lost someone they mean that they died. But I feel like I really lost her, you know. Like that she is out there somewhere waiting for me to find her. Lost."

"Have you tried to, you know, find her?"

"I hired a PI. He confirmed that she had been back to the farm. But her trail stops there. My dad bribed the local police to search for her body. They weren't going to, not on their own, not enough evidence. They combed the woods on our property, but they never found anything. She was just gone."

The train pulled into the station, and they boarded. An old homeless man, asleep, was the only other person in their car.

"So I went back to Chicago and lived with my dad until I went away to college. I hated him, blamed him for everything. Part of me still does, I think. So I rebelled. In college I fell in with a bad crowd. How trite is that: 'a bad crowd.' Always managed to get good grades but I did a lot of drugs. Mostly pot and some psychedelics, acid, shrooms, peyote. They weren't trendy drugs. Not like coke, which was big at my school, especially among the dieting female demographic, or scrips, which everyone was doing. I just wanted to experience something new, see the world differently. Make sense of everything. After a year or two I started to lose interest. I still did them once in a while, but not with the deliberateness with which I had begun. Now I mostly just smoke a little pot every once in while. Clears my head. And I stopped sleeping around too. I had been something of a turbo slut, which had been a side effect of all the drugs, I guess."

She had been leaning her head on his shoulder, but now she shifted, looking up into his face. "Please don't judge me," she said quietly.

"Wouldn't dream of it, pet. You were hurting. Lost. Confused. Been there myself. Everyone has. And that often leads to the bad decisions. Don't worry, Rae, no one's judging. And if you knew even half of the things I done the first hundred and twenty years I was a demon, you probably wouldn't care much about my opinion. I've been a bad man, kitten. At worst you've been little more than naughty."

"Thanks." She kissed him lightly, uncertain. It was the first time she had kissed him since they had gone to bed, and she wasn't sure how he would react. What he wanted from her. She didn't want to overstep any bounds. Try to make this thing between them into something that it wasn't. But he returned the kiss, tenderly, cupping her chin.

"Nothing to be ashamed of, pet," he murmured again. She wasn't ashamed of him. So unlike Buffy, who would have never kissed him in public, even if their only company had been a passed out homeless man. Buffy who had gotten a thrill, gotten hot, out of keeping him her dirty little secret. But Rae. She wasn't ashamed of him. And that, well, that was something.

"So then what? How'd you wind up here?"

"Senior year my father died. Heart attack. I never got to say goodbye to him. I hated him for so long, you know. Like I said, I blamed him for my mother's disappearance. I blamed him for her leaving me. In the end he was always kind to me, but I still hated him," she laughed harshly, "Daddy-issues, isn't that cliché. He left me everything. And he was quiet well off. Left me more money than I'll ever need. Most of it is in a trust, which I'll get access to when I turn twenty-eight," she paused for a moment, "or when I get married."

"Itchin' to get hitched, then, kitten?"

She blushed. "No I was for a while. Not because of the money. But because of the guy. It was one of those young and totally in love things. I met Dem at school. He bought pot from one of my friends, and we had hung out a couple of times at parties. I slept with him one night after a lot of weed and wine, and he wasn't like the others. Because in the morning he was still there. We started actually dated, and soon I was absolutely, desperately, insanely, foolishly in love. And he must of felt the same way, because the summer before our senior year he proposed and I was crazy enough to say yes."

"So, where is prince charming, now, then?"

She looked down. "He's gone. Dead. Senior year. He ran out for a late night beer run. He had gotten to the party late. Was the only one not drinking, so he offered to go out. His car crashed, caught on fire. They weren't even able to pull a body from the ruin. He just burned up."

"So sorry love. Didn't know. Been there myself. Not a pleasant way to go. Must have been hard on you. Especially after losing your mum and dad like that."

"It was. Still is," She laughed abruptly. "Wow. I may not be able to compete with you with the supernaturalness, but, fuck, I have the depresso factor down. Death and disappearance and people burning alive, I guess our stories aren't so different after all."

He put his arm around her shoulder. "That's life, kitten. Living, loving, losing, then you die too. Sometimes you come back, but most people tend to stay pretty dead. Not too much more to it."

She smiled sadly, "Guess so." She laughed again. "At least we've got drugs to help us through. A little self medicating goes a long way."

They had walked a little further when she stopped in front of a two-story brownstone. "So, this is where I live."

"Seems quite posh, pussy. Rent must cost you a fortune."

She blushed, looking down at the pavement. "Actually, I own it. My father. He bought it for me when I decided to get my MA at Fordham. One of the last things he did for me. I guess spending money was the only way he really knew how to show he loved me. Its lame, really. And I hate complaining about it. You know, poor little rich girl. Just feel guilty, you know. All the famine and destitution in the world, and I own a brownstone in Brooklyn. It just makes me feel so hypocritical sometimes, you know. Especially if it was bought with dirty money. Besides, it makes me feel cheap. Like he could buy affection from me."

"Hey, when Angel was running the LA Wolfram & Hart I drove a viper, yeah. Purchased with the filthiest cash out there. But, still, I loved to drive that thing. Made me like Angel a little better too, now that I think about it. Anyway, can't beat yourself up about who dear old daddy is. Our parents are just our origins. They shape us, sure. But they don't make us. That's entirely up to you."


	15. A Man Again

**New York 2009**

"Buffy, love, I know I should have told you sooner. But I couldn't, pet. I was afraid this would happen. I just wanted us to be happy. Fuck, Buffy, that's all I ever wanted."

Buffy looked at him icily. "No. It was selfish and it was wrong. I know this. You know this. You didn't do it for us, Spike. You did it for you. Like everything. You were motivated by your own selfishness."

"No, I did it for us," he insisted, "I didn't want to break your heart any more than I wanted to break mine, love," he reached out a hand to touch her, but she pulled away.

"Stop calling me that. And stop flattering yourself." Another stupid thing to say. Of course he had broken her heart. She had as much as said so herself. But for some reason she could not bear to hear him say it. She could not stand the smug sense of power it must give him to know that he broke the Slayer's heart. He always had a thing for beating Slayers, didn't he? The first two he had killed violently, bested them with fists and fangs. Her death would be slower, more painful, she imagined, than the other two women who had gotten off comparably easy. Her death would be through loss and tears and heartache. And she didn't think she had the strength, really, to fight back. She could lob her cutting remarks towards him, but it didn't matter. Not really. He had already beaten her. He had already won. Because he had moved on. He was happy. And she was not.

"Oh, that's the tune again is it? Sorry to offend, Slayer. Didn't think you'd go back to treating me like dirt again quite so quickly. But I guess it's easiest just to blame me. Blame Spike. The vamp. The Big bad. Does it make you feel better? Does it ease the pain some playing the righteous bitch? Does it make it easier on you pretending that you are clean and innocent and bloody blameless in all of this? Must be nice to get on your fucking high horse and trample everyone else, eh Buffy? One of the benefits of being Chosen and all, I reckon."

She ignored his questions, his accusations, preferring instead to parry with her own. "How dare you talk to me like that, Spike?" she practically hissed at him, "How could you do this to me? I have every right to be angry with you, you idiot. You forgot about me. You didn't come to me. You abandoned me. You took a new lover. And you left me alone. You moved on, and you didn't care if it would hurt me or not," her voice was low, edged like the cold steel of one of her battle axes. An axe that Spike was right grateful wasn't here at the moment. He rather liked his head where it was, attached to his body.

Anger glinted in Spike's eyes, as he clenched his fists, responding, "Yeah, I might have moved on, like you fucking told me to do a hundred times. But at least she doesn't treat me like shit, and she doesn't blame me for everything. At least she treats me like a man. Like you did once, Buffy. Don't know what happened to that, but I would give anything to get that back."

"What happened, Spike, was that you loved me and I loved you and you betrayed that love. And I think I've already given you enough chances. You don't get another second chance to make things right. I've already forgiven you for the unforgivable, and I can't forgive you for this. Not again, Spike. You've hurt me one too many times before for get another shot at this."

**New York 2006**

Rae unlocked the gate and then the door of the brownstone. She walked a few steps down the hall before realizing that Spike was not behind her. She turned, "Something wrong?"

"Just have to invite me in. This being a private home, and all, need an invite. It's a vamp thing," he shrugged.

"Oh, sorry. Didn't know that was for real. I'll get used to vampire etiquette, I guess. Well, I officially invite you in, Spike. Is that how I'm supposed to do it?" she babbled, neverously.

Spike crossed the threshold. "Needn't be so formal, pet," he chuckled, and Rae relocked the door behind him.

"Down here is mostly storage space and a couple of spare bedrooms," Rae explained. "The space is really too big for just me. I thought of taking in a renter, but the creepiness factor outweighed the loneliness. I do most of my living up-stairs. Gets better light," she looked at him uncertainly, apologetically. "I have curtains and blinds and stuff. We can block out the sunshine. No incineration, no problem."

"Thanks, kitten. Bet you never considered the inconvenience of taking a vampire as a lover." He grinned. She was sweet. And it was nice, comforting, that after everything that had happened tonight, she would still prefer it if he didn't go up in flames.

"Actually, before tonight never really considered taking a vampire as a lover at all," she smiled in return. "But that's because I had no idea you guys even existed. Guess it fits my morbid streak though. It's a good thing, I think. Limits the damage I can do, you being already dead and immortal and everything. Come on. I'll show you the upstairs."

She directed him towards the stairs, at the top of which sat a cat. It was white with jade green eyes and a pink nose. When it saw Spike, it arched its back, its short hair bristling, and it began hissing violently.

"Austen!" Rae scolded the cat, but the cat did not abandon its aggressive posturing.

"S'okay, pet. Just knows what I am. It can sense that I'm a predator, a threat. Just wants to protect you, I reckon. Not much chance of that, though. I've eaten month old kittens bigger than that one."

She stopped short. "You eat kittens?" she asked, clearly appalled.

"Only when I was evil. What?" he demanded. "I haven't harmed a kitten in years. I swear. I'm on a feline free diet."

She sighed. "Well that precocious little thing is Austen. And Bronte is around here somewhere. Hiding probably. She doesn't do well with company. And you better not eat them."

"Won't touch the fur balls, I swear," he promised before scoffing, "Austen and Bronte? You named your cats after nineteenth century female novelists? You are a crazy cat lady."

She shrugged. "Suppose I am. But they are very literary little animals."

They came to the top of the stairs. "And this is the conservatory, then?" Spike asked.

Rae blushed. Potted plants crowded the perimeter of the room, craning toward the large bay window which, during the daylight hours, illuminated the space. Ficus and palm trees, peace lilies, ferns, and prayer plants thronged about on the floor, while a number of orchids were arranged on tables. Spider plants hung from the ceiling and ivy hugged the walls. Spike could see two golden eyes peeking out from the foliage. Bronte, he figured, hiding and peering out at him from behind the protective vegetation. "I guess it is kinda like that painting by Rousseau, huh? The one where the plants overtake the living room."

"Its like a bloody jungle in here."

"Yeah, I overdid it a bit," she paused, "okay, a lot. I find them soothing. I guess that comes from growing up around more plants than people. But, plants just make a place feel like home, you know."

"Not really, kitten. Most of my homes have been crypts. Not much plant life, or any other life for that matter, in them."

"Guess not. Crypts wouldn't be great for growing things. Not enough sun. But that's probably the point, isn't it."

"Now you're catching on, love," he moved behind her, wrapping his arms around her waste, his lips grazing her ear. "As much as I am enjoying the Garden of fucking Eden you got growing here, I'd really like to see the bedroom," he murmured, pressing his erection against her back.

She blushed again and Spike could feel the heat of her blood rise to her face. But he could also smell her arousal. God, how much he wanted her again. It had been so long since he had had a woman, in any sense of the word, couldn't help it if he wanted to, needed to, have this one again. Besides, now that he was in her home, he found her scent completely intoxicating.

"Yeah, well, remember I said that my mom was always weird about plants. I guess I inherited it from her. Like mother like daughter, flora freaks."

"Oh is that what the blush was about, love. And here I thought it was because I was making you all hot and bothered again. No need to fret, pet. I'm weird about blood and sunlight, not to mention I've also got this thing about crosses and holy water. That's one good thing about knowing about the beasties of the world, yeah. Despite all your adorable little quirks, you're very far from joining the ranks of the freaks, by comparison at least."

She turned to face him, "You think I'm adorable?" she smiled, before kissing him deeply, running her hands through the curls of his hair, tracing the contours of his face with her fingertips. She finally broke the kiss, wordlessly taking his hand and leading him into the bedroom. The walls were dark green and the furniture dark brown, inlayed with a leaf pattern. The bed linins were all black, and the sweet musty smell of pot pervaded the room. There were a couple of orchids placed, but no where near the amount of foliage that there was in the front room. The room was dark, but comfortable, the kind of place a vampire could get very used to.

Not that Spike paid much attention to the décor, he was too busy getting Rae out of her tee-shirt and jeans and getting out of his own. He did notice a guitar stood up against the wall. "You play?" he asked as she pulled his tight black tee-shirt over his head.

"Yeah," she answered, between kisses. "Since I. Was young." He hungrily pressed his lips against hers before she offer any further comment or explanation.

That night, or rather morning, as Spike drifted off the sleep, he realized that for the first time in years he felt warmth, purpose, peace. For the first time since that last year in Sunnydale he remembered why he had fought so hard to become a man again.


	16. His Girl

**New York 2006**

He had woken up the next morning with Rae curled up asleep beside him, her thick hair a mess of curls and tangles splayed across the pillow, and Austen on his chest. Those jade eyes staring, unflinching, boring into him. He wondered if the cat could see, sense, his soul. If that was the reason the animal could so calmly yawn and saunter out of the room, now completely indifferent to his presence, no longer treating him like a predator, a threat.

It was nice. It was the first time he had woken up warmed by a woman's body since he had spent those last few nights with Buffy.

They built a sort of a life together. If you could even call it a life in his case. At least, it was an existence. They moved together, their habits, their quirks, their needs, intertwining, negotiating around each other. It wasn't long before their life together became habitual. Spike spent most nights at her place. By the end of the fall semester he had subletted his apartment and had moved in with her. They developed a routine. She usually woke before him, went for a run. He slept in, because, after all, as a creature of the night-early-to-bed-early-to-rise rubbish wasn't really his thing. They would often go to campus together. His blood moved into the refrigerator next to her organic fruits and vegetables. She told him that it was an essential vegetarian flavor, but she stopped cooking with garlic almost entirely. He had assured that it was only an irritant, especially when cooked, but she had insisted that she give it up for his sake. She did not want to cause him any pain, any discomfort. It was a small sacrifice, but it was sweet of her, really.

At night he would patrol. At first he thought that he might bring her with him. Like Buffy, he would not admit to himself. But she wasn't much of a fighter. He had trained her a bit in the basics. She moved gracefully, like a dancer. Poised and strong. She had the mechanics down, but she had no aptitude for their application. But she didn't really want to kill things. Even if they were evil. So, for the most he patrolled alone and gave up on trying to make her more like Buffy. After all, he was fond of her just the way she was.

Her flat was pretty comfortable. In fact, more comfortable than almost any other place he had lived. Not that there was much of a comparison. After all, most of the places he had lived had been literal holes in the ground. Crypts and abandoned buildings. Places that wouldn't attract notice or sunlight.

Rae had curtains and blinds to keep out the direct sunshine. Surprisingly, the jungle in her living room did not diminish with the reduction of light, but continued to thrive, grow. Due to those green little fingers of hers, Spike teased her.

Their lives together were comfortable. And after being together for a little over a year, Spike realized that he was falling in love with this girl, his girl. Not the intense, destructive, and overpowering love he had felt, still felt, for Buffy. But something softer, gentler, nice. This was not grand passion or obsession, but it was love nonetheless.

**New York, 2009**

Buffy felt like she was drowning. She had so often dreamt of their reunion. Despite all her hopes and fears she had never imagined it like this. She had been afraid that he wouldn't love her anymore, that he had given up on her, started resenting, hating, her. She had never thought that she would be too late. That he could still love her and be with someone else. All the times she had told him to get out there, date, move on, it had never occurred to her that he actually might. And now she hated him for doing it, for taking her advice, for leaving her alone.

Besides, she wasn't sure that he actually did love her. He claimed to, sure, but he couldn't prove anything. But then again, did he have to? He had died for her, after all. What more could she possibly want from him. What other demands could she make? She felt so heartless and cruel but too hurt to care.

And she was so confused. She wasn't sure if she wanted to believe him or if it would just be easier to convince herself that he was lying to her.

"Do you love her?" she challenged him fiercely. Her tone was defiant, but part of her knew she did not want to hear his answer. Likely, it would just confuse her, hurt her, more. But for some reason she needed to feel tough, hard, cold towards him, or at least she needed to appear that way. She did not want him to see her weakness, to sense her vulnerability.

He paused. "Not like I love you, Buffy, god knows I could never love anyone like I love you. It would bloody kill me, it would. Tear me to bleeding shreds. Couldn't give her my whole heart, you already had most of it. But she took what I was willing to spare, and gave what she could, and she's been right good to me," he watched her expression the sorrow, the disappointment, the fear, the anger. This was hard, but, bloody hell, it sodden needed to be said.

God, shouldn't these painful reunions, reunions where language proved again and again to be inadequate, where they could not escape the specters of their pasts, haunted by their mistakes, shouldn't these be bloody old hat for them by now? Shouldn't they be used to hurting one another until they couldn't stand the pain but couldn't bear to be away from it? Guess you never got used to some things.

"Oh," was all Buffy could manage. She was suddenly so tired. So tired of this fight, this life. It all just seemed to just be going round and round in circles. She was stuck repeating the same scenes, saying the same words. Saving the world. Losing the guy.

She just wanted it to come to an end. She just wanted to be finished. Like in the movies. Mission accomplished, roll the credits, now you get to be happy. But her life wasn't like the movies. There was no closure, no final triumphant scene. She was in a constant battle. An endless fight. And she was so tired of it all.

"I'm sorry, love" he said again. His apologies becoming redundant, meaningless to her. She wished he would just stop. Leave her alone. "If I thought for a second that I would ever see you again I would have waited an eternity. But I lost hope, got lonesome."

"But you said you loved me."

"Christ, Buffy. Of course I love you. But I've never been good on my own. I've always had a woman around. First my mom, then Dru, Harm, then you. Not much for being alone. You know that. Besides, its not like you confined yourself to a fucking nunnery during my absence. You moved on too. Snuggling and snogging the bleeding Immortal. Him of all bloody people." He was jealous at the thought of another man's hands on her, especially the hands of that sodden pounce. But he knew he didn't have the right. Not anymore. Not really ever.

"Who the fuck is the Immortal? And why the hell are you and Angel so obsessed with him. He said the same thing to me. Told me about your little Italian adventure. I wasn't even in Italy, then. I'd gone back to England at that point. So, no, I hadn't moved on. I don't even know an Immortal. Okay, I know a few immortals, but not 'the,' whoever the hell he is." She didn't want to get into the sordid details of the other men she had slept with. With Xander. With countless other faceless men. But she did want to hurt him. "You know what. I did fuck guys during the past six years. But it never lasted. Never does. They all left. They always do. Even you." Her voice was hard, bitter.

"Fuck, Buffy. I'm sorry, love, I don't know what else to say."

"There is nothing else for you to say. You've moved on. Its fine. After all, six years, must have seemed like a long time when you've got forever to live. You only stuck by Drew for one hundred and twenty. And she was fucking crazy and fucking Angel. So, yeah, I could see how a few years would be too much for you."

Neither of them spoke for a few minutes. They were both lost in their own little worlds of pain, afraid, again, to reach out to one another. Knowing if they did reach out, they would only end up hurting each other a little bit more. Like they also seemed to.

"Are you happy?" Buffy finally asked. Why did she keep doing this to herself? Asking these questions that would end up torturing both of them. When did she develop such a fucking masochistic bent? Well, at least she was hurting him too.

He was overwhelmed by this bloody guilt. Sodden soul. Never really felt guilt before he had it. After he had met Buffy, loved her, followed her into the light, he had felt bad, sometimes, but never like this. Because how could he tell her that he was happy? Or at least he had been until the second when he saw her name on the roll, had caught a whiff or scent, had gazed on the face that he never thought he would see again. How could he tell Buffy that he had been late for class because he had been up in the office he shared with Rae shagging her? She had come to wish him luck and had ended up with her skirt up around her hips, her scanties on the floor, pushed up against the bookcase, him deep inside of her. He was sure that he had failed to smell Buffy as soon as he entered the classroom because his senses were still so full of Rae. He couldn't fucking do this.

"Yes. But Buffy, its different now. You're here. None of it is the same. Not now. Not anymore," was all he could manage. He couldn't stand the look of despair that had crept across her features only to be replaced by icy resentment. He couldn't do this.

"Fine. I'll leave. I'll call Giles. Go back to England. It will like none of this ever happened. And it will be a nice change. At least this time it's me that gets to do the leaving."

"Bollocks."

"Spike, please. I can't stay here with you. Not like this. It will kill me," she grudgingly admitted, "I was half dead when I got here and every second I'm here with you like this, its killing me deader. Do not ask me to do this. And do not insult me by suggesting that I could."

"Bollocks, Buffy. If you think that I could let you go, again, then you've completely lost it. Buffy, you're the one. I wasn't lying or exaggerating or bleeding trying to make you feel better when I told you that. I'm like a moth to a bloody flame with you. I'm likely to get burned like to a crisp. Actually already have gotten burned to a crisp for you. And still I can't seem to stay away from you, your brightness, your fire, your light. If you leave me, then you better stake me, because fuck, Buffy, I couldn't live with loosing you. Not again. I've already lost you more times than I care to. I can't let you run away because I was too much of a twit to trust that we would be together again. Someday. I won't let you go."

"Its not your choice, Spike. You don't get to decided whether I go or not. I'm not your girl. Not anymore. Never really was. There was a time when I thought I might be. But not anymore." She pulled a ten dollar bill from her bag, threw on the table, and walked out of the bar. She did not turn back to look at him. She couldn't. Because she knew if she looked back at him all broken and beaten, then she might lose the strength she had mustered, the anger she had drawn on, and give up her resolve to walk away.


	17. Lights in the Darkness

**New York 2009**

He followed her. At a distance. Resuming his old stalker ways, he smirked to himself. He wouldn't linger. Wouldn't lurk outside her home the way he once had. Wouldn't leave a pile of old burnt out fags as proof of his devotion. It was a sign he knew she would recognize, but not one he could leave behind. Not yet.

He just needed to know where she lived. Need to follow her while her scent was still strong enough to track. He had to know where she was. Because he couldn't let her leave. Couldn't let her lose her again. Except that he had already lost her, hadn't he? Had already buggered things up good. For good. That is, if he believed that he had ever really had her in the first place. And he wasn't sure he was ready to believe that. Maybe he never would be. It was easier, wasn't it, to believe he never had her at all.

And he knew he had fucked things up. He always did manage to bugger it up one way or another. He could be so hopeless when it came to women. Especially when it came to her. So many times he had said the wrong thing. Done the wrong thing. Ended up hurting the woman he had given his heart, body, and soul to. Torturing her, figuratively but also very literally, with his love.

He would try to not to hurt her again. He couldn't chain her up, force her to love him, force her to stay. But he couldn't let her go. Even if she was being a right harpy about everything.

Balls. How he hated her, how he loved her, when she got like this. All brassed off and bitchy. She was bloody insufferable and he adored her.

He watched her enter an apartment building, lighting a cigarette. For old time's sodden sake, he thought grimly. She didn't live far from the school. It wasn't the best part of the Bronx, but it wasn't the worst either. It would be dangerous for a girl like Rae, but Buffy could handle herself. Always could, always would, he thought with a smirk. One of the reasons he loved her. Her strength, her self-reliance, her power. The fact that she probably could have killed him if she had ever really wanted to. The fact that he probably could have killed her too. At least he could have before those army sods shoved that bleeding chip in his head. But they hadn't killed each other. Not then. Not now. They might hurt each other until they felt like death, but whether out of mercy or love or who the fuck knew what else, they would never land that final blow. Their dance might be painful and torturous, but it would never actually be fatal. For some reason, they both didn't have that in them. Both had something holding them back.

He saw a light go on in one of the rooms, bright and distinct against the darkness of the other apartments. Everyone else in her building apparently in tucked safely in bed and asleep at this time of the night. He saw her against the artificial light flooding the space as she approached the window. And then he retreated into the night. He doubted that she could see him, her eyes not attuned to the darkness, but he did not want to being seen. Didn't want to piss her off anymore than she already was, so he hung back in the darkness, avoiding the puddles of light from the street lamps. He took a drag from his cigarette. At least now he knew where she was.

**New York 2009**

Buffy stormed from the bar, too engrossed in her own thoughts to notice anything going on around her. She could be in the middle of a fucking apocalypse and she wouldn't notice. Because, after all, it felt like her world was ending. Crumbling. Everything she had believed in destroyed.

And part of it was her fault, wasn't it? She had let him in. She had let herself believe that Spike was the kind of lover she needed. Loyal. Constant. Unwavering. She had idealized him. Rendered him unrecognizable and unrealistic in her imagination, her eulogy, her affection. He was supposed to be steady in his love for her. Unmoving. He had taken all the abuse and punches she had hurled at him. And he had always stayed.

True he had left when he had gotten his soul. But he had done that for her. And he had come back to her. Besides at that point she had hated him so much she hadn't cared.

And then he had left when he had died. But that, too, he had done for her. To prove his love. To hope to earn hers. And even death had not stopped him from coming back, even if something had kept him from coming back to her.

But now he was really gone from her in a way that didn't seem real. This was not how this was supposed to work. She could be seeing someone else, sure, but not him. He was supposed to be constant. And he was not supposed to move on. That's way she had been so confident telling him to move on, to date, to start see someone new that last year. Because she knew that he wouldn't. He couldn't. He was supposed to be her loyal, constant, steady Spike. The one constant in her life since she had been ripped out of heaven and thrown back into it was that he loved her.

Just went to show how fucked her life had become. Her one constant was the love of a vampire.

What the fuck was she thinking? This was Spike she was thinking about, right? Annoying, bleach blond, vampire Spike. All those years on the hellmouth must have really fucked with her head. Driven her totally nutty. Because she really had believed that she could depend on him, really had believed his love to be constant.

And the really depressing, crazy thing was that she knew she had no right to ask him for that. She had been horrible to him. But he had always stayed, always loved her, whether she deserved it or not.

Now losing him, she felt like she had died again.

Her anger was the only thing sustaining her right now. If she could stay mad at him, then she could continue. Which was why she had gotten so angry in the first place. Her rage had been disproportionate and unjustified. He had been right when he had pointed out that she had been at fault too. But she couldn't accept that.

She also could not acknowledge to herself that the real reason she was angry was not that he had moved on. She had tried too also, hadn't she? But that he had not told her. Had not told her until she had already admitted what she felt. Had opened herself up to him. Acknowledged that she had fallen in love with him. Made herself vulnerable. Weak. Only then had he told her. And for that he could not be forgiven.

He had humiliated her. Insulted her. And she would never forgive him for that. He could go home to his little slut and she would go home to England. Not that it was home, really. But it was more of a home than she had here. It was the closest thing to a home that she had. All she knew was that she had to be far far away from him. Far away from him and far away from the weakness within herself that he represented. Far away from the reminders of happiness and the possibility of reciprocation that she had felt earlier that night. Far away from her weakness, her vulnerability, her love.

She entered her apartment building and quickly walked up the stairs. As she went into her room she flicked the light switch to the on position the harsh florescent light flooding the room. She would call Giles and he would fix things for her. Would get her out of this fucking school and this fucking city and this fucking new life she thought she could fake her way through. He would take care of her like he always did. Like the father that her biological dad had never been, or had stopped being as soon as someone better came along.

She moved toward the window, peering out into the dark city. She must be seeing things, she concluded. Going completely insane. Her mind playing tricks. Hallucinations. Even normal people hallucinated during periods of intense stress, right? And dealing with Spike, well, that was always stressful. Didn't matter if he wanted to kill her or love her or both. He always managed to stress her out. And also this was a big city. Millions of people. Wouldn't, couldn't be him. She so needed to get out of here. She needed to be on the other side of the ocean. Far away from him. Far away from the possibility of him. Because she could have sworn that she saw the glowing end of a cigarette butt held by someone standing outside of her building before it vanished into the darkness. And as much as she hated to admit it, even to herself, especially to herself, she found a bit of comfort in that little speck of orange surrounded by the vastness of the night.


	18. And Not To Yeild

**New York 2009**

The phone rang twice before he answered. "Hello." He would be reading the paper and drinking his coffee at this time in the morning, Buffy thought.

"Giles."

"Buffy?" he sounded surprised. "Buffy, is that you? Why on earth are you calling me at this hour? Why it must be three in the morning there. Is everything alright?" She had waited an hour or two before she called. Staring out the window without seeing a thing. Numb to world around her.

"No," her voice sounded weak, broken.

"What's wrong? You're not hurt, are you?"

Not in the way you're imaging, Buffy thought. But yes. I am. Hurt, beaten, and broken. "No. No. Nothing like that," she reassured him. "It's just… it's just… it's Spike." His name caught in her throat, and she began to sob.

"Yes? Spike? What about Spike?" Giles asked slowly.

"He's here. And I saw him. And he has some slutty little girlfriend. And we fought. And I left. And I love him, Giles. I don't want to, but I do." Her speech came out in a barely coherent tumble of sobs and words.

"Oh dear," was all Giles could manage for the moment. He had suspected Spike was at Fordham. Had been able to deduce as much from Vivian's description of her new favorite grad student. Vivian had not, however, mentioned a love interest. Giles felt a pang of guilt stab through him, and he shuddered. It was probably best that Buffy could not, at this moment, actually see his face. He was grateful that he could not see hers. Her words carried the weight of her sorrow, and they were difficult enough for him to hear. He would not care to see her pain written across her features as well. It would be too much for him. He would be rendered unable to do what he must.

He had sent Buffy to that particular school because he had believed that it was what she needed. He had not wanted to. He had not wanted to reunite Buffy with Spike. But in the end he had decided that it was what would be best for her. He had put his deep-seated hatred for the vampire aside and had done what he thought he ought to for Buffy's sake.

But apparently he had been unsuccessful. And now he had even more reason to hate the vampire.

"Oh dear," Giles repeated while he collected his thoughts. "I'm very sorry, Buffy. I imagine this is a terribly difficult situation for you. Is she… is it… is it another vampire?" Giles fumbled.

"No," Buffy sighed. "No, it's another girl. A human girl. Like me. Well not like me. Because she is a grad student, and doesn't have any superpowers or an annoying destiny or any mission that will eventually get him or her or both of them killed. She is normal, Giles." There she had said it. Yes, she was jealous of this girl. Because she seemed to have everything that Buffy didn't. She had Spike, but she also had the normalish life with him that Buffy never could.

"Yes, well, as normal as a girl with a vampire boyfriend can be, I suppose. That does put a damper on any pretense of normality," he attempted to reassure her. Giles could hardly forget Buffy's obsession with being a normal girl. It had haunted her all through high school and then college. She had accepted her destiny, embraced her gifts, and fought on against the forces of darkness, but Giles knew that a part of her still just wanted to be normal, average, not Chosen.

"I want to come home, Giles. Come to back to England, I mean. Back to the school. I can't do this here."

Giles was disheartened by the surrender in her voice. It was so uncharacteristic of her. His Slayer never conceded defeat. Part of her survival for so many years was her strength, her resolve, her absolute refusal to quit even when faced with impossible odds. And once Buffy resolved to do something, she very rarely failed. His Slayer had always found a way. Made a way when circumstances had required it. She bravely, resolutely, faced the darkness and fought it back.

He sighed. There had been one point when she had yielded to opposition. When everyone had abandoned and condemned her. It shamed him to remember that point when they had all doubted her judgment, her leadership, and had caused her to doubt it as well. He had accused her of being reckless and quixotic, forgetting that she had a talent for recognizing the giants that other mistook for windmills.

Spike had been the one to remind her of her strength. He had been the one to reassure her that she was right. He had been the only one stalwartly steadfast, completely loyal, and absolutely true. He had been the only one who had remained unafraid to trust her with his life. And in the end he had been the one to give his life for her.

The vampire had managed, at least, to do some things right, even if he had also done a great many things very wrong.

But this time Spike was not there for her, and she had turned to her Watcher. Somehow, Giles needed to remind her that her strength, her beauty, existed in her resolve. Her unwavering spirit. Her distain of surrender, her insistence that they continue to fight, her refusal to yield.

"To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield," Giles murmured.

"What was that?" Buffy inquired. Tired. Defeated. Annoyed.

"Sorry. Just a bit of Tennyson."

"So not in the mood for poetry right now, Giles." She paused, "It is poetry, right?"

"Quite."

"See I don't need school. I can just spend more time with you. It would be kinda like hanging out with a book," Buffy said, brightly. A brightness Giles could tell she was faking. He could hear the stress in her tone, the despair strangling each falsely cheerful word. "So can I come back to England."

Giles let out a long sigh, steeling his own resolve. It would be beneficial for her in the long run. She had turned to him for guidance, for help, and he would do, God help him, what he thought ultimately best for her. "I'm afraid that would not be possible, Buffy."

She paused for a moment, faltered, and continued in the same forced playfulness. "You didn't already remodel my room into a craft nook, did you Giles?"

"Buffy," Giles said, his voice stern but warm, kindly. "Buffy, I really think it would be best for you if you remained, at least to finish the semester."

"But… Giles… I can't… I just can't. I feel like I'm dying inside. Again. I feel like I was brought back to life for a few hours and now they, he, you, are putting me back in the ground. I can't do this."

"But you can, Buffy, I know you can. You have been through much worse. It would be doing a disservice to you to allow you to quit. I cannot condone it."

"I'm a grown woman, Giles. I don't need your permission."

"I am perfectly aware of this fact. And yet you call me to ask me for it, which clearly demonstrates what I am finding so troublesome. It pains me to say this, but you have been relying on me much too heavily Buffy, again, and I believe some time on your own can only benefit you. Help you to grow into the young woman I know you can be."

"I called you because you're my boss, Giles. You're the one who sent me on this Mission Impossible in the first place."

"I haven't been your boss since you were in high school, Buffy. And even then you only heeded me when it suited your own inclinations. You depend on me like I'm your father, a role that I am honored to play, but at some point, Buffy, I need you to live your own life."

Buffy paused. It was the second time that night someone had accused her of not really living. Was it true, was she really so afraid a death that she had not let herself live? No she had lived. She had been the liviest Slayer ever. She had invested in family and friends. She had loved with abandon and let herself be loved. It just never seemed to work out. Maybe she was a little closed off to life now, but it wasn't because she was afraid to die, it was because she was afraid that she would continue to live. Continue to feel like this. At this point death would be a welcome change. Death was easy. It was living that she found a challenge. The hardest thing in this world is to live in it, she had told Dawn, right before Buffy had jumped to her death. Well, after everything she had been through, living had not gotten any easier.

And that was the problem wasn't it. Spike had seen it, and apparently so had Giles, she was so ready to give up because life had become too hard. Too much of a burden to bear. It wasn't Slaying, that was the simple part. The easy part. The part of her life that was clearly defined, determined by destiny. It was all the other human stuff that she was having such a problem with.

"Buffy, are you still there?" Buffy heard Gile's voice, small and far away.

"I'm here. Just thinking."

"Well, I didn't want to bring this up, Buffy. But you are an adult, and you must be made aware of this. I made quite a personal monetary commitment to send you to school. I do not begrudge the finances. You know I would spend any amount of money on you, if I thought it would benefit you. But I would appreciate it if you at least completed the semester. Then we can see about transferring you elsewhere to finish the degree."

Buffy sighed. Giles had always demanded so much of the Slayer, but had personally asked little of Buffy. "I'll stay," she finally conceded.

"I think that is the best choice."

"I'm not so sure it is. But it's another sacrifice I'm willing to make. Getting strangled by the Master, jumping off of makeshift towers into swirling portals of helliness, always accessorizing with a stake, and staying in the Bronx to battle heartache, it really sucks being your Slayer, sometimes, you know that Giles."

"And yet you do it so well," she could hear the tired smile in his voice.

She shrugged and responded nonchalantly, "It's a job."

"Well, then, Buffy I figure you ought to be getting to bed. You'll need your strength in your, as you put it, battle against heartache."

"You think I can kick its ass?"

"You always do. Good night, Buffy."

"Good morning, Giles."

They hung up the phone. And Buffy got undressed and crawled into bed. But sleep refused to come. Despite all of her forced cheerfulness and bravado, she wasn't sure should could kick heartache's ass. Most monsters proved no problems. But Buffy and feelings was a different, less happy-endingy story. Still, Giles thought she could do this, and she would. She had survived too much to let this thing with Spike break her. She would survive this too, and she would come out of it a stronger, if colder and harder, Slayer.


	19. Guilt Trips

**New York 2009**

It was almost four in the morning when Spike unlocked the door to Rae's brownstone. Their brownstone, really. He had been living in it for three years. Rae had let him make it his home. Their home. Together. At least she would be asleep, which would be good. He wasn't sure he could face her, not after everything that had happened that night. Not after Buffy. Not after the masochistic binge he had gone on after he had left her apartment. He needed a few minutes to calm down, bring him himself back to bloody neutral, before seeing his other girl. Although at this point, Rae was really his only girl. Buffy had made it clear that she was not his, that she wanted nothing to do with him. So he needed time to figure out what to tell Rae, why he was so late coming in, why he looked like hell.

He touched his face, his fingers exploring its contours, mapping out its broken and bruised surface. That was one disadvantage to being a vampire, couldn't see the damage they had done. The damage he had let them do.

His right eye was puffy and swollen. He knew that without touching it because he couldn't see too well out of it at the moment. His left eye wasn't quite as bad, although there was definitely some swelling. It, too, would be a pretty nasty shade of purple, black and blue by morning. His nose had been bleeding, he had tasted it before, but feeling it now reassured him that it wasn't broken. He had a cut on his forehead, his hair matted with blood, and he could feel the painful bruise on his cheek beginning to swell. His shirt had been torn in a few places, and a couple of his ribs had been bruised, but not broken.

Nothing serious, but, still, not bad for a night's brawl.

Usually the only one he let beat the shit out of him like this was the Slayer. Unless he was being tortured by some other equally crazy bint. Glory, Buffy, the First, he was no stranger to a good beating. The only difference was that the one whipping him was usually in woman form. Even the First had known that it was the birds who hurt him. After all, it had taken the form of bloody Buffy and Dru.

Love hurt. At least this way he wore his bruises on the outside.

Besides fighting was preferable to moping and crying and getting all soggy and sodding sodden about the fucking Slayer. And a spot of violence always cheered him up, made him feel a bit better about the himself, his unlife, whole bloody thing.

It was all Buffy's fault, after all. If it hadn't been for her, he would not have gone on this masochistic guilt trip in the first place. If she hadn't made him feel like shit then he wouldn't have sought out the violence, its pain and its catharsis.

And he wouldn't have downed the two and a half bottles of whiskey which was the first stop on the trip's itinerary.

After the human bars had cut him off, he went down to one of the demon hangouts. Probably not the smartest thing he had ever done. Not the daftest. But not the brightest either. By this point he had developed a reputation that did not make him too chummy with other demons in the area. He had established himself as an enemy: the ensouled vampire that got his kicks in killing his own kind. They viewed him as a sort of a race traitor, and while there wasn't exactly a price on his head, there were quite a few demons that would not be at all put out by the thought that Spike had bit the dust, or rather, turned into dusty bits.

So going to the bar in the first place had not been the smartest thing he had ever done. Fighting all six of those demons at the same time, well, that had been bloody stupid. But at that point he wasn't exactly thinking clearly. Whiskey and guilt, sorrow and rage had so muddled his sodden skull it was amazing that he had thought at all. Besides they hadn't looked that big or tough or mean in the first place. And when he finally realized that they were that big and tough and mean, by then he was already in the thick of it. Fists pounding. Fangs slashing. By that point he just hadn't cared anymore. And he had had no reason to. At least, he had survived, and not one of them could say the same. Actually, they wouldn't be saying much of anything. Ever again.

Still, he had taken a bit of a beating.

He silently padded up the stairs. He would clean off first, take a quick shower, wash away some of the blood. Then he would slip into bed beside Rae, and hope that surrounded by her warmth, her scent, her body, he would be able to ignore the pain at least in sleep. He would not be able to forget the throbbing of his heart, mirrored, echoed, by the throbbing wounds on his face, but at least he might be able to ignore it for the rest of the night.

He turned on the shower and stripped off his jeans and tee-shirt, noticing again the tears in his shirt, the bruises on his ribs, the scratches on his chest. This had been one bloody damaging evening. Fucking stupid.

And it was all her fault. She hadn't even been willing to listen. She hadn't given him a chance to explain. She had told him she loved him, but when it came down to it, it was the same old Buffy, quick to accuse him, blame him, treat him like shit to make her feel better about her sodding self. He bloody well didn't feel very loved.

Right now he just felt thrashed. Well, at least the wounds in his flesh would heal within a couple of days. Which was more than he could say for the wounds in his heart, his soul. The pain caused by the knowledge that she was so close, and, yet, she was as far away as ever. She had never really let him in, had never really let him get close to her. Even in the end she had maintained that wall, that barrier she had erected between them. She had loved him, but had refused to tell him, let him see it, let him know, let him in. She had held herself apart from him, aloof, distant.

And then she had the balls to complain that she was bloody alone. Of course she was alone. She fucking pushed everyone away. Even him. Especially him. And then when he found a little love, a little comfort elsewhere, she got all shirty and fucking pissed off. She wasn't satisfied unless he was pining away after her precious self, following her like an unrequited whelp. His was so tired of all her mind games and mood swings. Her indecisiveness and righteousness. He had forgotten just how exhausting it was to be in love with his mardy bitch of a Slayer.

The hot water from the shower stung some of his cuts, but at least it relaxed his muscles as it cascaded down his bare back and chest. He stood for a few moments, not moving, not even breathing, letting the soothing heat of the water wash over him, cleanse him. One of the benefits of living with and more like a human: hot water and bloody indoor plumbing. After a minute passed, he scrubbed down, using one of the organic soaps Rae bought from a local shop. She bought an unscented one for him, which he appreciated. Didn't want to smell like a pounce washing with the grapefruit mint or lavender and lemon peel bars she fancied.

He dried himself off, before walking starkers into the bedroom. Rae had fallen asleep with the light on, a book, _Almanac of the Dead_, in her hand. Austen had curled up next to her stomach, and Bronte was sleeping where Rae's legs crooked at the knee. Both cats eyed him sleepily as he entered the room, clearly annoyed by his intrusion. As he slid into bed, the felines stood up, stretched languidly, and jumped off, slinking out of the room and leaving him alone with Rae.

He gently stroked her hair, which was splayed across the pillow, marveling at how easy things had been with her. Well, at least before the sodding Slayer came to town, things had been easy. Rae had had none of Buffy's hang-ups, her moral qualms, her prejudices. She had, somehow, accepted him from the start. Even after she knew what he was. She had invited him into her home, her bed, her heart, her life. She had allowed herself to love him without the inhibitions, the doubts, the conflict that had always plagued, haunted, Buffy.

He had been a right fool to believe that he could move on from Buffy. A real twit. He could be with, even be in love with another woman, and the second he caught a whiff of the Slayer he was back to being her bloody lap dog. He just couldn't fucking help himself when it came to Buffy. Rae had been good to him. She deserved better, more, than what he could give her.

And she certainly did not deserve what Spike was about to do. After all, she wasn't Harm, and he had no right to use her like he had that damned dumb bint. But he had to do this. For him. Because needed this. Needed to be lost in her, her body, her blood. Needed to experience the calming euphoria that accompanied sex with her. It was more than just getting off, it was pure almost druglike transcendental ecstasy. And he needed it. Needed to be consumed by her, so that he might forget, if only for a little while the other woman he was drowning in. "I'm so sorry, love," he whispered, so quietly it was barely audible even to him.

Again he cursed his soul. This bloody guilt was almost too much for him. Guilt over Buffy, because he felt that every moment he spent with Rae was a betrayal. Guilty about Rae, because he knew what it was to be used, the pain, the objectification, the humiliation, and, yet, was going use her anyway. He loved her, and he didn't want to hurt her, but he knew that he would. Couldn't help himself. He was being a stupid, selfish, bloke, a real bastard. And the guilt was overwhelming.

His hand trailed from her hair, to her neck, to her chest. Thankful for not the first time that she slept in nothing but her scanties. As he caressed her breast, his fingers softly circling her nipple, she moaned. "Good morning," she murmured, her voice thick with sleep, heavy with sexual arousal.

"Actually, still night, kitten. And I'm not sure that it's a good one," he responded, his fingers still trailing the soft skin of her breasts, her flat stomach, the silky triangle of hair between her legs.

She turned toward him as she had so many times, opening her body to him. But when she saw his face, she paused. "Shit, Spike. Fuck man. Are you okay? What happened to you?"

"Got into a bit of a nasty brawl, pet. Its nothing. Heal up in a day or two."

"God Spike," she reached up and tenderly touched his cheek. "Looks like whatever you were fighting hurt you real badly."

Poor kitten, he thought, you have no idea how bloody bad she wounded me. "Bit of hurt is all. But I improvised with some painkiller."

"Whiskey?"

"You know, modern medicine has severely underestimated the healing properties of a good stiff drink. Does wonders for all one's aches. But if you're looking to play Florence Nightingale, kitten, I do have a bit of swelling you might be able to take care of," he said, pushing his erection against her thigh.

She kissed him, tenderly, gently, afraid to put too much pressure on his bruised face. He pulled her panties off and rolled on top of her, thrusting deeply inside of her. She was hot and wet and in that moment he did not think about Buffy. He did not think about Buffy as he buried himself deep in Rae, allowing her body to engulf him. Allowing the waves of euphoria to wash over him. And he did not think about Buffy as he brought Rae to climax. Nor did he as he growled and came inside her. As she curled up to him and fell back to sleep, surrounding him with her heat, her scent, her body. And he did not think of Buffy as he drifted into unconsciousness himself.

He would sleep that night in her borrowed warmth and try again not to think about Buffy in the morning.


	20. Not Jealous

**New York 2009 **

Buffy had woken up early next morning. Too early, considering how late it had been when she finally managed to fall asleep. Luckily she had never been much for sleep anyway. A few hours were enough to recharge her for both her day and night jobs. Besides the sleep she had managed to get had hardly been restful. She had been troubled by dreams, nightmares really. Her stupid unconscious conjuring up images of a bleach blond vampire. She didn't know which were worse, the ones where they were fighting or the ones where they were fucking. Both made her stomach feel all gurgally, nauseous, like she was going to throw up. Especially since all of them had ended with him going up in flames. Burnt to a crisp, he had said, like a blackened moth to a flame. And in all of her dreams, it had always been her fault. Just like it had been when he really went all combusty. She had been responsible. It was her fight. Her duty. Her destiny. Only she could take the blame for his sacrifice, his death, his flames, and his ashes.

So, really, not sleeping was not such a bad thing. At least then she only had conscious thoughts and images to make her miserable. She really did not need her unconscious inventing things to make her feel bad. She felt enough like shit as it was.

Especially after her conversation with Giles. She had really been hoping that he would allow her to return. She hated it when he didn't fix things for her. When he tried to forced her to be mature and adult. She didn't want to be mature or adulty. He could always rely on Slayer Buffy to do the right thing, but sometimes person Buffy needed a push in the right direction.

Well she would do what she had to. She always did. She would make it through this like she had with Angel and Parker and Riley. If she had survived all of that she would survive this too. Fuck, she had already survived Spike, hadn't she? It was nothing she couldn't handle.

She pulled out her laptop and allowed it to load up. She checked her Fordham email address. No new messages. She let out a sigh of relief, suddenly realizing that her heart had been pounding, that she had been holding her breath. She hadn't really expected him to send her an email, had she? Spike had never really seemed like the emailing type. He preferred the grand gestures of love. Chaining her up in his underground lair. Getting beaten to an icky pulp to protect her sister. Winning a soul. Burning to save the world. That was more his style. Sending an email, not so much.

She could not keep thinking like this. About him. She had to put him out of her mind if she was ever going to make it through this semester in the city. She could constantly be hoping that he would contact her or find her or make everything better. He had to be dead to her now.

Or, rather, deader. Not dusty. But definitely deader.

She quickly composed an email to Vivian Tallis, hoping that she had the email address correct. In her email she informed Prof. Tallis that her Thursday night English class was so not going to work out for her. That she was wondering if she might be able to switch to a different English class. Preferably one during the daylight hours and in a room with lots of windows. She asked Prof. Tallis if she would be on campus at all during the day, so that they might meet to discuss other course options. Buffy hoped she would be around at some point in the afternoon; she had to be on campus anyway for her Math and French classes.

"Oh shit," Buffy groaned, realizing that she had failed to complete the assignments for both classes. She had worked on them both before her English class, but not much. Not as much as she should have. And then with everything with Spike, homework had completely slipped her mind. Not that homework mind slippage was anything unusual for her. She just hadn't had homework in a while. She was totally not cut out for the whole school thing. Sometimes she wondered how she had ever managed to graduate high school.

Not that she wasn't smart. She was. Smart enough at least. It was just with all the complicatedness that was her life, she had no time for studying. Not to mention no tolerance for bookiness. Research and homework, those things required the kind of time and patience that Buffy just did not have. She was more action-girl than archive-girl. She was always all too happy to leave the texty stuff to Giles and Willow. Buffy had been content to follow her instincts. And often that had been enough to get her by.

Unfortunately, Giles and Willow were in different countries right now and Buffy's instincts when it came to algebra and verb conjugations sucked.

It was a good thing that she had gotten up so early. After Buffy had taken a shower and eaten a bowl of cereal, she spent the rest of her morning before classes finishing her homework. Well, at least most of her homework. Prof. Tallis had written back, asking her to come to her office around four.

After her two classes, which had been just as boring as they had been the first day, Buffy wandered around campus, getting her bearings and wasting time until her meeting with her advisor. It was another beautiful sunny day and again the students were lounging out on quad. The only difference was that today was Friday, and tonight would be one of the first big party nights on campus. Buffy could sense the excitement in the air and she could imagine the raging hormones of the undergraduate student body raring to get up, get out, get drunk, and get laid. She remember her own college parties, college mistakes. She shuddered at the thought. She really really did not like college.

A little before four she wandered into the corridor dedicated to the English department, where all of the English professor's offices where located. Buffy wasn't exactly sure wasn't which office was Prof. Tallis' she walked slowly down the hall, reading the names posted beside each office door.

Suddenly she stopped short. Prof. William Pratt. And the door to the office was ajar. But that was impossible, Spike couldn't be here. It was too early. The sun was still too high, the light to direct for him to travel safely to campus. Even if he pulled a blanket or his duster over his head, like he used to do in Sunnydale, the smoke issuing forth from beneath the somewhat protective cloth would definitely attract some major attention. Especially with all of those undergrads swarming the quad. Unless, of course, they all just assumed that it was pot or cigarette smoke. But that seemed unlikely. And running around huddled underneath a blanket would be fairly conspicuous.

So it couldn't be him. Except that maybe he knew some underground method to get on campus and into this building. But if there was a vampire in that office, she should be able to sense it. Part of the Slayer package was the vampdar that altered her when there was evil near by. And she wasn't getting any vamp tinglies.

Then she noticed the name posted beneath Spikes: Prof. Rhea Gaiakis. Buffy rolled her eyes, what kind of name was that? Because hey, wow, vowels much? Buffy ignored the irony of the girl called Buffy making fun of other people's names, because at least she felt better. Catty, yes. Cathartic, you bet.

She moved a little way down the hall, until she could see into the office. A woman was seated behind the desk. Had to be Spike's slutty new girlfriend. She was looking over some papers, her thick dark brown curls falling cascading around her face. She looked up for a moment, her eyes unfocused with thought, and Buffy was relieved that she did not seem to notice her. She could justify her actions to herself, but Buffy really did not want to have to explain to this woman why she was lurking outside of her office making with the weird stalkeriness.

What did not relieve Buffy was how beautiful the woman was. High cheekbones, almond shaped eyes, smooth olive skin, full lips. Her dark brown v-neck tee-shirt revealing the tops of her round full breasts. She looked like the kind of woman you would see in a little tiny string bikini beneath a waterfall in a men's magazine. And from what Buffy could tell, she wasn't even wearing make-up. Totally unfair, she was too beautiful. If a guy liked his women with a touch of sensual exoticism. Which Buffy definitely never had understood. But she felt so boring and pain next to this woman. Just another California blonde. Nothing special there. Nothing there to keep a man excited and interested for longer than a few years. No wonder none of her relationships ever lasted when this was the kind of woman she was up against. And no wonder Spike had fallen in love with this girl. It was total unfairness.

Gazing at this woman, Buffy also felt incredibly old. She figured that she and Rae must be roughly the same age, but the other woman looked a good three or four years younger than Buffy. Whatever life the girl had had, it had not aged her the way Buffy's had. Of course, Buffy had been under pretty sustained stressed, with apocalypse after apocalypse, and apparently it had wreaked its own destruction on her face. Worry lines, crows feet. Buffy had never felt so worn, so drawn. She made a mental note to do some major moisturizing as soon as she got home.

The woman looked up again, and this time seemed to notice Buffy peering into her office. "May I help you with something?" she asked, smiling to reveal a set of perfect white teeth.

"Oh… um… I was just looking for Prof. Tallis' office," Buffy managed.

"Its right down the hall. Fourth door on your left. Just let me know if you need anything else," Rae responded before returning to her work, scribbling something quickly on one of the papers.

"Thanks," Buffy mumbled as she continued down the hall. She kind of wished the woman had not been so pleasant. Maybe she could have been sharp or peevish that her work had been interrupted. Or rude. Or condescending. Then Buffy could hate her for a real reason. Not just because she was jealous. Not that she was jealous. The woman could have Spike for all she cared. She was so done with that vampire. Rae could have him. She was welcome to him, really. Because Buffy did not want him. She hated him. And she was definitely not jealous.

As she walked down the hall she repeated the words. Not jealous. Not jealous. Not jealous. Because she knew the things that Spike could do to a woman. He done them to her more times than she would ever acknowledge, and he had given her more pleasure than she could ever admit. Even to herself. And she could not think about him doing those things to, doing those things with, another woman.

Not jealous. Not jealous. Not jealous.

She knocked lightly on Prof. Tallis' door.

"Do come in," the British woman invited her. "Ah, Buffy. How are your classes?"

"They're fine. Except English."

"Yes. Your email mentioned something about that. Prof. Pratt is not to your liking."

Not anymore. Never again. Okay, he is way too much to my liking, Buffy thought. My loving. But he can't be. Not ever again. Not that he would ever want me again anyway. Not when he could have her. Not jealous. Not jealous. Not jealous. "Um, no its not just that. Its just, I have a scheduling conflict. I think that a day class would be better for me."

Vivian Tallis shrugged. "No matter. There are several classes still available that might be of interest to you. There is a Thursday 1 o'clock class taught by another one of our promising PhDs, Prof. Gaiakis."

"No," Buffy said, wishing she had not answered so quickly and that her voice had been not quite as loud, not quite as shrill, as it had been. "No," she said in a softer, quieter voice. "Are there any classes not taught by grad students?" How about classes not taught by the person currently fucking my vampire ex-boyfriend. The one I am still totally in love with. I mean, in hate with. Totally in hate with. Not jealous. Not jealous. Not jealous.

"Certainly. I should have thought of that myself. Often our returning students prefer more," she paused thoughtfully for a moment, "more established faculty. I can enroll you in Prof. Murphy's 11 o'clock class on Thursday. She has been a distinguished member of the academy for over thirty years."

"Sounds perfect," Buffy assented. At least she was out of Spike's class. And now she could work on getting him out of her life. Out of her mind. Out of her heart. As she exited the building, she was careful not walk past Spike and Rhea's office. She was not jealous, she assured herself again. She just did not need any reminders of him. She did not need any excuse to think about him. It was about time she started to forget about Spike, and move on with her life. After all, he had said so himself. It was time for her to rejoin the living.


	21. Rule 173

**New York 2009**

The end of summer sun was still relatively bright and high as Buffy walked off campus. She could hear rhythmic bass pounding from dorm rooms, as students began their Friday night partying early and energetically. It was the first weekend all the students were back on campus, and Buffy was not surprised that they were already well on their way to drunkland. After all, she had done the same, hadn't she, when she was an undergrad. As much as she had very strongly disliked college, she had enjoyed the parties. She and Willow had gone out when they could. Whenever her fighting the forces of darkness schedule and homework would let her. True that batch of bad beer and becoming B.C. Buffy had made her not such a fan of alcohol, but she had still loved to go out and party, dance, have a good time. Parties had made her feel like a normal girl. At least until the evil party crashers showed up, which they inevitably did. So, she guessed, so much for normal.

Knowing that the rest of her classmates would be out with friends, boyfriends, and one-night-stands, Buffy felt her loneliness engulf her. She would be all alone tonight and the next night and the night after that. She didn't have any friends here. In fact the only people she could even consider friends on this continent were in Cleveland and L.A. And she wasn't sure that 'friend' was a title she was comfortable using when it came to either Faith or Angel. Extremely messy past. Former enemy. Current ally. Check and check and check. Friend. Not so much. So okay, they weren't friends exactly, but still, she would have given anything to have them here with her now. Anything was better than this suffocating feeling that she was alone.

She would go out on patrol later tonight, once the sun went down, and she hoped she would run into some baddies. Demons. Vamps. It didn't matter. At least they would be a bit of company before she killed them. She groaned. Oh god, her social life had been reduced to monsters. She was actually looking forward to the exchange of her witty remarks and their not so witty retorts. She was officially lame. Her life had come to a state of sadness that she so did not want to think about. For the millionth time that day she wished that Giles had given her the green light to go back to England. At least in England there were people, non-dead and non-demon people, to talk to. At least in England she could pretend and almost convince herself that she was not completely alone.

She was almost to her apartment when her phone rang. It was Dawn. She so did not want to talk to her sister right now. She laughed harshly to herself. Here she was complaining about being alone, and then when someone reached out to her, she refused to connect. She sighed. It was a typical Buffy move, she guessed. Bitch about the loneliness but keep yourself aloof. Apart. Alone. Still, she could not bring herself to answer her phone, and she let the call go to voicemail.

Her phone beeped once, indicating that her sister had left a message. "Hey Buffy," Dawn began. "I know that you are totally ignoring my call, because, please, what could you possibly be doing right now? Anyway. I really need to talk to you, so please please please call me back. Or better yet, I'll just keep calling you until you decide to stop being a bitch and answer your damn phone. Love you. Bye."

Just as Buffy finished the message and ended the call, her phone rang again. Dawn. So she wasn't kidding about the continual call back threat. Buffy sighed, fine she would answer. She didn't want her incessantly ringing phone to drive her any crazier than she already was.

"I thought the annoyingness was supposed to decrease as you got older," Buffy answered the phone.

"Its not annoyingness, its persistence," Dawn countered.

"That's just another nicer sounding word for annoying."

"Maybe. But whatever you want to call it, it works."

For a moment silence hung around them, neither sister knowing exactly what to say. Buffy so did not want to tell Dawn about everything that had happened with Spike. Her sister did not like, did not approve of the vampire. Not anymore. At one point Dawn had been Spike's number one supporter. The president, secretary, vp, and treasurer of the Spike fan club. But all that had changed. And Buffy did not want to give her any more reasons to dislike him or any chance to say I told you so.

"So, I know why you are in total avoidance and mope mode," Dawn finally said. "Giles told me."

"Great. Glad to hear my romantic drama made the Watcher gossip column."

"Oh please. We don't have Watcher gossip columns," Dawn responded snippily. "We blog. Or use good old fashion word of mouth, you know how stodgy some of those watchers can be." She paused, "But seriously, Buffy, its Giles, we're talking about. He's not exactly crank up the rumor mill guy. He's just worried about you."

"I'm fine."

"That is such total bullshit, Buffy. God, I'm your sister. Okay, the sister formerly known as big-green-energy-ball. But still. I know when your fine. And when you're not. And I definitely know when guy trouble has got you all angsty and depressed. And right now my sister instincts are screaming that you are the total opposite of fine."

"Okay, so maybe I'm not fine right now. But I will be. Soon. Just give me a few pints of Ben and Jerry's and a few demons to take my aggression out on. You know, normal girl pity party stuff. "

"Yeah. Right. I also know that you have some pretty fucked up ways of dealing with break ups. Case in point, demon fighting as therapy."

"Language. And killing evil things can be very cathartic. And this wasn't a break up. News flash, we were not dating. We never dated. We might have had sex. But never dates. You don't go on dates with vampires."

"I don't, but you do. And by the way Buffy, you're actually not supposed to have sex with them either. That's definitely somewhere in the Slayer handbook. Rule # 173 or something. But you never followed the rules. Besides you went on plenty of dates with Angel."

"And we all remember how well that worked out. Half of our dates ended in bloodshed anyway."

"So what does it matter if you went on dates with Spike or just went out on patrol. It ends up being the same thing."

"No it doesn't and its not."

"You love him."

"Maybe I do. Maybe I always will, no mater how hard I try not to. But right now that's not really the point."

"Then why are you giving up so easily?"

"Huh?" Buffy was unlocking the door to her apartment building. And she was sure that she must have miss heard her sister.

"I said, 'then why are you giving up so easily?'" Dawn repeated slowly.

"What do you care? You hate him, remember. Shouldn't you be happy that everything you said ended up being true?"

"Buffy, you're miserable. How can I be happy about that?"

Buffy paused for a moment, "When did you get to be all grown up and with the matureness and everything?"

"Three years and eighty-three days ago. And stop trying to change the subject."

"There is nothing more to say on the subject."

"You still haven't told me why you're giving up without any kind of a fight at all."

"Oh we had a fight. A big one."

"Not what I meant."

"You wouldn't understand, Dawn."

"Try me. Mature adult now, remember?"

Buffy sighed. "The truth. Is that he hurt me badly enough that I don't want to fight anymore. I give up. I've been fighting my whole life. For you, for mom, for my friends, for myself, for the world, for him. I just don't have any more fight in me."

"Just because he has a girlfriend?" Dawn inquired skeptically.

"Not just a girlfriend. A perfect, impossibly gorgeous girlfriend, who is actually nice to him. There is no way I can compete with that Dawn. I'm so old and worn out and wrinkly. I have fucking crows feet."

"Oh shut up Buffy. You are just as beautiful as ever. I saw you a month ago and you looked stunning and totally wrinkle free. So you can just stop with the excuses and just tell me the real reason, okay?"

"That is the real reason."

"No, its not."

"Yes, it is. I just can't compete. She had all of the advantages. She even has bigger boobs than I do. It is totally not a fair fight."

"Please Buffy, you love an unfair fight. It makes you feel all scrappy and underdog-like and you give very long inspiring speeches. Besides, this is Spike we are talking about. He's been totally obsessed with you forever and totally in love with you only a little less than that. She so does not have all the advantages. Spike never could resist a Slayer. And you know all of this. You really have no reason to be jealous of this girl."

"Huh. What? No. No jealousy. I am so not jealous."

"You absolutely are. You are totally jealous. But that's still not everything. So the real reason, at any time, would be nice."

"Fine Dawn. You can be such a pain in the ass. You know that?"

"I count on it. Now. Spill."

Buffy took a deep breath and then gave into her sister's request. Dawn would not stop being annoying or persistent or whatever she called it until Buffy confessed. No use dragging this melodramatic conversation out any longer. "Okay. Its not just about the girlfriend, although that's definitely a major part of it. It's that he waited to tell me about her until after I had told him how I felt. I admitted that I loved him, and then he dropped the g-bomb on me. And then Buffy go boom."

"Did you ever think maybe he was just nervous? That he didn't want you to react like this. That he was afraid to tell you because he didn't want to summon the wrath of the Slayer?"

"Of course I thought all that, Dawnie. I haven't been able to think about anything else. The point is that he has run out of get out of jail free cards. He does not get to pass go and collect his two hundred dollars or whatever. Its totally over. We're over. I can't go through this again with him."

"Am I allowed to say 'I told you so' now?"

"Hey, what happened to the adultiness?"

"I'm still you're little sister."

"So what you're saying is that you'll always be a little brat faced pain in the butt?"

"Pretty much. But it also means I'll always love you. No matter how stupid you are about vampire boys."

Buffy smiled sadly to herself. "I love you, too." She paused, "Thanks for making me talk to you. I feel a little bit better."

"That's another thing sisters are good for. Besides, you've saved my life how many times? The least I can do is pull you out of your self-imposed solitary confinement once in a while."

"Well, thanks, Dawnie. But we are so still not even," Buffy joked.

"The way I figure it, we never will be."


	22. Gone

**New York 2009**

The next couple of nights Spike came home late. He came home drunk. And while he did not arrive as thrashed as he had the first night, he came home beaten. He also came home hoping to get laid and then drift off into the comforting unconscious oblivion of sleep.

It was self-destructive, the fighting, the drinking, the shagging. He was hurting himself. But he enjoyed the pain. Reveled in it. Anguish and agony. That was what it was to be in love with the Slayer. With his Slayer. With Buffy. He had told her that. Loving her was pain and suffering, torment and torture. It hurt him so badly that a stake through the heart, a face to face with Mr. Sunshine would have been welcome. Anything to make the pain stop. For a while the pain had stopped. Well not entirely stopped, but it had faded a bit. Eased up during the years he had spent with Rae. But now it was back with a bloody vengeance. The bar fights, the brawls, the black eyes and broken ribs, he did it on purpose, to make himself hurt. Because the physical torment he could handle, it was the suffering in his heart, his soul that would kill him. Besides, pain and violence, those were things he knew, things he understood.

So he welcomed the blood, the bruises, the physical markers of his internal turmoil. The only problem was that he was hurting Rae. He could see her pain written in the questions that greeted him in her eyes when he finally rolled out of bed in the afternoon, sore and hung over. She was afraid. Even when she smiled or laughed, her eyes remained sad, serious, concerned. She knew something was up. Could sense his pain. After all, it was not like he was doing much to hide it. But he couldn't bring himself to tell her what was wrong, and she could not yet bring herself to ask.

This is what Buffy bloody did to him. Woman could bring out the best his soul contained and the worst of his demons. He was a right mess of a man. That was for bloody sure. And he didn't know how to put himself back together. He was lost in his pain. Lost in her. Drowning again in his sodding Slayer.

It was late again, Monday night, or rather Tuesday morning, when Spike unlocked the door to the brownstone. Had to be about three in the morning. He had lost track of time. His nights measured in shots and punches rather than hours and minutes.

Again he showered quickly before getting into bed and slipping into Rae. Within her he found peace, a brief reprieve from the daily torment of love and Buffy. When he was inside Rae, he did not think of the other woman. Of the pain she was causing him. When he was inside Rae, there was only her, her body, her love, and the calming pleasure he found in her.

No wonder he had shagged her any bleeding chance he got the past few days.

When he finish, coming inside her, Spike remained on top of her for a few moments, his semi-erect cock still engulfed by her.

"Spike?" she asked, gently, softly, uncertainly, reaching out and tentatively touching his cheek.

"Yeah, love," he murmured, peaceful and content.

"So, are you going to tell me what's been torturing you the past few days?"

It would be so easy to answer her, truthfully, directly. Buffy. But he couldn't. Because Buffy had made it clear that she did not want him, and he did not want to lose the other woman he loved, the one person who could make the pain go away, if only for the moments he was with her. He rolled off of her, putting his arm around her. She let him, but did not move closer to him, seeming to have decided against their usual post-coitus cuddle. "Nothings the matter, pet."

"Nothing?" she inquired, arching an eyebrow.

"Yeah. Nothing. What makes you think there would be something?"

"Oh I don't know," she answered, her tone edged with sarcasm, bitterness, anger. "Maybe its because you've been coming home smelling like a distillery and covered in bruises. Maybe because you've been screwing me like a man desperate for something. There is something hurting you, Spike, and it seems that no matter how hard you try, you just can't drink or fight or fuck away the pain."

He was taken aback. Unaccustomed to having her talk to him with such vehemence, such force, such anger. She was usually so mild and gentle and understanding. Now she was as brassed off and bitchy as Buffy, and, god help him, it was kind of turning him on. He had to tell her, it was only fair. But, "Its her," was all he could manage to respond.

"Who? Oh, Spike, it's not Dru again, is it?"

**New York 2007**

He had run into Dru at a demon bar. She had been hanging all over a Groxlar until she had seen him. She had flitted up to, simpering, "I am still very cross with you for playing your nasty games, you naughty naughty boy," but as she approached, her expression fell, "Oh, my Willie, what have they done to you?"

"Nobody's done anything to me, Dru. What are you on about?"

"You burn. Like fire in my eyes. It hurts," she wailed, as if in physical pain, holding her fingers to her temples, pressing forcefully, "Get it out, my sweet Spike. It hurts. It burns. Like daddy…"

"Oh that. Yeah, Dru. Got me a soul, just like Peaches. Well not just like the great poof, but close enough."

"It reeks. Like daddy, like sonny. Filthy gypsies. The sins of the father. And now you, the son. You wanted to play in the sunshine, now you are picking all the flowers. You stink of hyacinth," she hissed.

"Still completely off your rocker, huh, Dru? I used to love that about you. Now, to be honest, I just find it kinda annoying."

"All the pretty little flowers. Roses, and daffodils, and lilacs. Irises, and lilies, and peonies. Such a pretty garden you are planting, sweet Willie. But what will you will you do when they come and pull them out by the hair. The pixies in my head say that they will come, and they will trample all over of you pretty flower. Stomp it! Break its bones! Destroy it to plant something anew in its soft earth and flesh. So much pain. Its delicious. Roses, and tulips, and pansies. Violets, and poppies, and hydrangeas."

"Are you finished, then? The Ophelia bits a nice touch. But sod off. Time to take the crazy elsewhere. Get you to a bleeding nunnery, or whatever. If your not gone by tomorrow, I'll kill you. And don't think I won't." He turned to leave.

She started laughing. "My poor sweet boy, you are the one that's gone far away. So far far away. You've tasted it. Tasted the milk and honey of the sunshine and the nectar of the flowers. Tasty nibbles for Spike, but you won't share with me. It burns. Naughty Willie, you hurt poor mummy so. It burns you all over. Burns you all up and there is nothing left but a soul and ashes."

"Whatever Dru. You, tomorrow, gone. Or I'll kill you. For real this time. Not for Buffy either. This time I'd do it all for me."

He had come home in a rage and Rae had calmed him and comforted him. It wasn't so much seeing Dru as remembering the monster she had made him. The monster she would make him again if he let her. Because a part of him still loved her. Always would, he reckoned. Which was why he wanted to kill her. He wanted to erase that past, those memories, that love, that wickedness, that evil, that darkness in himself. Seeing Dru had shown him how easily his demon could regain control. How easily he could turn again into a monster. Having a soul helped him to be good, but it couldn't make him good. And he was frightened at how effortless it would be to be evil again.

**New York 2009**

When he had run into Dru Rae had brought him back to himself. Gently she had reminded him of the man he had become. She had helped him once, but he was not sure that she could heal him again. Besides this time it was different. This time it was Buffy.

"No, not Dru," he answered quietly.

"Then, who Spike?" She paused for a moment, her eyes becoming wide with the realization.

"Its nothing, love."

"Its Buffy, isn't it?" she accused him.

Buffy. The name fell like a wall between them. "Yeah," he answered slowly, sullenly. "It's bloody Buffy."

"When? How?" she asked, confusion, concern written clearly across her features.

"Thursday. She was in my class. Don't know why or how she came to this sodding city. But she is here."

"And you didn't tell me. How could you not tell me, Spike?"

Oh bloody hell. He was a moron. Couldn't learn a bloody thing. Not when it came to women anyway. Always making the same mistakes. Buggering it up the same ways. Daft twit. He was bleeding dense. Hadn't he learned a fucking thing from his blow up with Buffy. Keeping things like this from women just pissed him off. He was a stupid git.

"Rae. I'm sorry. I didn't… I couldn't tell you."

"No. You could. You chose not to. But you could have. Spike, you told me you were a vampire and I accepted it. You could have told me that the woman you loved, the woman you died for was in town. You should have told me."

"Fucking balls," he swore. "Listen Rae, all we did was talk. Fight actually. It was mostly fighting. Its not like I shagged her."

"It doesn't matter. You just don't get it, do you? You didn't have sex with her, so you use me instead. I can't imagine that all the sex the past few days have nothing to do with you running into your ex. Not just your ex. Dru was the closest thing you have to an ex. And we both know how well that reunion went. No. This was the woman you fucking died for," he could smell her pain, burning and raw.

"Kitten, listen. It wasn't like that."

"Then what was it like, Spike. Tell me what it was like," she looked at him sadly, tears welling in her eyes. "Because I don't want to be angry with you. Really I don't. So tell me. Please."

"Its my past, my baggage, old flames and old hurts. You've got them, too, pet."

"Yeah. Everyone one has scars. But this isn't a scar, Spike, and its definitely not just baggage. This is a gaping wound, raw and open and fresh. And I just don't think I can be your tourniquet. I'm not a band-aid. I can't make it better, and I don't think I can make you better. I don't think I want to be used like that."

"You do. You do make it better, I mean. God, Rae, the only time is better is when I'm with you. I love you. You know I do. You're the one bleeding bright spot in my sodding unlife."

"I'm not sure that's good enough. For me. I don't think I want to be the filler of the void she left in you, Spike."

He reached out and gently touched her cheek. "I can't lose you too, Rae. Just tell me what I need to do, what I need to say to make this okay."

Her eyes nearly brimmed with tears as she replied, "Its easy, Spike. Just tell me that you're not so in love with her that its killing her. You don't have to tell me that you're not in love with her. I know that you are. Just tell me that you are not so absolutely, deeply, and completely in love with her and that in every second you're not with her you're not dying just a little bit more."

He opened his mouth to reply. But he could not make the words issue forth. At perhaps one of the worst possible moments, the usually gregarious Spike was speechless.

She looked at him intently before interpreting his silence, reaching the inevitable conclusion. "That's what I thought. I think you had better go, Spike."

"You're fucking kicking me out?"

"I can't let you stay here. I love you Spike, and I can't watch you killing yourself over her. I can't watch you dying inside because of your love for another woman. I think you better just leave."

"Rae. Please. I…" he reached out to her.

"Go," she cut him off, rebuffing his touch. "Now. Please, Spike. I mean this. Leave." Her speech was low, quiet, but there was an unusual force behind her words which startled him.

"Fine, I'll bloody be off then," he said, getting out of bed, pulling on a pair of jeans and a black tee-shirt, hoping that she didn't see the tears that he quickly wiped away. He didn't want to lose her. He needed her, damn it. How could she bloody do this to him?

Rae did not get up from the bed, but she pulled the blankets tighter around her and turned away from him. She seemed so small so vulnerable, naked, his seed still inside of her. How could he have bloody done this to her?

"Call in a few days. I'll be ready to see you again by then. You can probably come back then. I'll probably let you in. I just need some time."

He left without saying anything, her sobs the only sound bidding him farewell. He paused at the bottom of the steps before exiting. He heard a sharp meow, then purring, one of the pusses must be jumping up on the bed, rubbing against her, curling up next to her to comfort her. "He's not coming back," he heard her sniffle. It bloody broke his heart to hear her cry on his account. The guilt stabbing him in the sodding chest then turning the knife. He was a right bastard to hurt her like that. Especially after she had been so fucking good to him. She deserved a better man than he could be. To tell the truth, both women did. They were right to be rid of him. "But I couldn't let him stay, Austen. He was already gone," he heard her whispering to the animal. He channeled his sorrow into rage and finished storming out of the house.

When he got outside he kicked the side of her building. "Bloody fucking bitches," he swore. God how he hated them. God how he needed them. They never fucking gave him a chance to explain things. He was done with them. Tired of trying to take care of them. Trying to protect them. Trying to love them. "This is the bloody thanks I get," he grumbled. "I die for this one. Do my best to do right by that one. And this is the sodding thanks I get. Well I'm done. I'm fucking through with these bitches. Enough is bloody enough."

At that moment he remembered what time it was. Sun would be up soon. He didn't have more than a few hours and he had no place to go. For a moment he considered embracing the sunshine. Death, the final one, might be a nice change. Even if he ended up in hell, which he likely would, it couldn't be any worse than being tormented by women. Fuck, hell might be a bloody welcome improvement.

But his instincts to survive were stronger than his desire to wallow in suicidal self-pity. Besides, last time he had tried to kill himself he had buggered that up too. "Oh fucking hell. Isn't that just bloody perfect," he muttered as he realized that there was only one place he could go. Only one person he could count on to take him in. She would do it. She might not want to. And she definitely would not be happy about it. But she would do it. She couldn't, wouldn't, let him die. She was too good for that. That he could bloody well count on.

**Author's Note: Thank you so much to everyone who has taken time to review this story, add it to their favorites, subscribed for alerts, etc. The positive feedback I have received has been really wonderful, so thanks. **

**I am getting married this weekend, and what with the wedding and the honeymooning, I will not have time to update the story for about two weeks. Rest assured, I have not forgotten about/abandoned/lost interest in the story, I will simply be very busy and then away on vacation. You can count on more angst, drama, Spuffiness, and new chapters when I return. **

**Thanks again. **


	23. Something

**Author's Note: Thanks again to everyone who has taken the time to write a review, subscribe to an alert, add this story to their favorites, watch for updates, follow this story, etc. I really appreciate all of the wonderful feedback. Thanks also for your patience while I was away. I am so excited to get back to work on this fic. I hope you continue to enjoy it and that this update is worth the wait! Thanks again. **

* * *

><p><strong>New York 2009<strong>

Buffy was lying on her bed. Her eyes were closed and her breathing steady. But she was not sleeping. She had not been doing much of that the past few nights. The best she could do was pretend to be asleep. Trick her body into believing it had been recharged through a period of something that resembled rest. She could not let herself become completely exhausted. There was still evil to fight. She still had her job, her duty, as Slayer. Besides, sometimes if she pretended long enough she might actual doze off for a few pleasant hours of unconsciousness. She had never needed much sleep anyway. Another one of those Slayer perks. Her body was well equipped to handle her night job and the sleeplessness that was an inevitable side effect of her graveyard shift.

At least there hadn't been any more dreams. Those she did not think she could handle, even with Slayer super powers.

It was late, around 5:30 in the morning. The sun would be coming up soon, and Buffy would have to go back to campus and spend a few hours acting as student. Pretending that she cared about homework assignments and actualizing her academic potential, or however Giles had phrased it in his booky British speak. Well at least every day she made it through here meant that she was one day closer to returning to Europe. Going back to the closest thing she had to home. And getting as far away from him as she could.

A buzzing noise filled the apartment. What the fuck? Buffy groaned. This better not be an attack of giant killer flies or mutant bees or something. Because she so did not have the energy to deal with that right now.

She walked into the main room of her apartment and fumbled for the switch before the harsh artificial glow of the florescent lights filled the room. No supersized insects in sight. That, at least, was a good sign. But the buzzing sound had not gone away. Which meant whatever was making the noise could be worse than radioactive bugs from outer space.

She looked around, before realizing that the noise was coming from intercom beside her door. She hadn't heard it ever before. She hadn't had any visitors that needed be buzzed in. But she knew how it worked. Had seen enough episodes of _Seinfeld_.

She hit one of the buttons, groggily saying "You have the wrong number."

"Fraid I don't, love," she heard a familiar voice with its familiar British accent.

It was worse. Way worse. She wished it was locust. Plagues of locust. Gargantuan locust. Could she please have plagues of gargantuan locust? That she could handle. This, not so much.

"You so do, Spike."

"Buffy, listen. I know you're pissed. And I know you have every right to be. And I know I have no right to ask it, but I need your help, love."

"I don't know if I want to help you. Why would you come to me anyway? After everything. How could you possibly ask me to help you?"

"Didn't have much of a choice, pet."

"What about you're girlfriend?"

"Bloody kicked me out, she did."

"Have to say, that makes me feel, well, better. Sure you did something to deserve it."

"Yeah. Feel in love with you all those years ago. That seems to be the reason for all of my bloody torment."

"Oh please, Spike. Save the martyrdom."

"Right. Forgot that's your song, Slayer. Wouldn't want to step on your lines, yeah."

"Okay. Enough. What did you come here for?"

"Its almost daybreak."

"And the award for obviousness goes to you. So. What are you doing here?"

"Need some place I can crash until a less, you know, flammable part of the day."

"And you want to stay here? You are aware that there is no fucking way that is ever going to happen. All that bleach must have really fried your brain cells if you're stupid enough to think I would actually let you in."

"Look, Buffy. I'm not exactly chuffed about this either. But its either beg you to let me in or end up as urban air pollution. And while the latter is tempting, I'm not quite ready to bite the big one yet."

"Do not threaten me with suicide, Spike."

"Its not bloody suicide, Summers. Its I'm bloody out of options."

"What about the sewers or the subway? That would keep you out of my apartment and out of the sun. Win-win."

"Oh yeah. That's cozy. Bit of prime real estate your suggesting there, Slayer."

"You didn't used to mind."

"Didn't used to mind killing people either. But I've changed, Buffy. I became a man. For you, you might recall. Don't exactly fancy sewer dwelling, pet. I don't want to live in the musty, dank, not to mention rank and shit filled, sewers like a bloody animal. Rather die than live like a rat or a fugitive or a fucking monster."

"See, now you are just being stubborn. Fatally pig-headed."

"That's rich. Coming from the bloody queen of the obstinate herself. Besides, there quite a few blokes residing down in the sewers who wouldn't mind doing me in for trespassing on their turf. And have you seen the size of some of the crocs living down there. Right terrifying it is."

"Not funny, Spike."

"Not joking, Slayer."

She sighed. Every minute she played this game with him it was getting closer and closer to dawn. Closer and closer to his ending. The final one. No heroics. No magic. No reason and no way for anyone to bring him back. It would just be poof the end. No more Spike. Already the sky was turning purple in the east, foretelling the coming sun.

"Please, Buffy," she could hear the desperation, the despair, cracking in his voice. "Please. I have no where else to go."

He had said that once to her before. All those years ago. When he had stood outside of Giles' home, begging to be let in. A ratty old blanket over his head. His face drawn and pale. Well paler than usual. Deep circles under his bloodshot eyes. He had looked horrible and smelled worse. She had let him at that point. And that had been before her had been reformed, good, had died to save the world. He had been absolutely evil at that point. And it had been before she had fallen in love with him.

Could she refuse his request now? Was she really ready for a world that did not have him in it? Did she really want to really want to relive the pain of his death? Him being alive was hard enough. Him being dead would be totally unbearable.

But this was her chance. If she really wanted to be, as she claimed, the cold hard Slayer who didn't need love or affection or anyone, she could just let him die. She wouldn't even have to do the killing. There would be no crossbow shot or stake through the heart. She would just have to do nothing and let the sunshine do the work. If that was really the person she wanted to be, cold, hard, strong, alone, then this was the place to start. Wasn't it?

She leaned her head against the wall, sighed pushed a button and unlocked the main entrance to the apartment. "Fine, Spike."

She heard him exhale a sigh of relief, as if he had been holding his unnecessary breath. And then nothing. She stood in the middle of the room, feeling vulnerable exposed, wishing she was wearing more than an old tank top and gym shorts. She crossed her arms across her chest, a protective gestures, as she strained to hear him move up the stairs. She heard a light, nervous lock on the door, and she removed the chain and unlocked the dead bolt.

"Come in," she said, opening the door, trying to keep her voice neutral, unmoved.

As he solemnly crossed the threshold, she was suddenly embarrassed as he looked around her bare apartment. Suddenly she saw the sparse space through his eyes. It was totally embarrassing. And she hated that he knew that she had been living like this. It also didn't help when he said, "Not exactly ready for your Homes and Gardens close up, are you love?"

"You so don't want to push me right now, Spike. I may not want you to die, but I really don't want to let you back in my life."

"I knew you wouldn't be happy about it, love."

"But you knew I would let you in."

"Had a hunch."

For the first time, Buffy looked him full in the face. He was thrashed. His pale skin a patchwork of bruises, green, yellow, purple, some fresher than others, some nearly healed.

"What the hell happened to you, Spike," she demanded. "You look like shit."

"Nice to see you too, pet. Got in a bit of a nasty altercation. Okay, a few nasty altercations. Couple of rough nights, you know. But I'll be fine. "

"You look like…" Like what? When Glory had beat the shit out of him. When she had. She couldn't finish the sentence. Too many painful memories. Too many reminders of their passion, their violence, their love.

"Didn't think you'd care at all, Slayer. Dare say this is a promising start."

"Lets just get something straight. This does not mean that we are okay, Spike. Things are not fine between us. Just because I let you in does not mean that I am still not very very pissed at you. This is not a new beginning or any crap like that. Understand?" He nodded. "Good. You can sleep on the couch. There aren't any extra blankets, so you'll have to make do."

"Got my duster, love. It'll do. Kept me cozy through worse."

"Fine," she said, as she turned. Slamming her bedroom door behind her.

"Thanks, Buffy. Owe you my life, again," he replied, quietly. Almost to himself. He closed the window's blinds, before flopping down on the sofa. She had let him in, hadn't she. For all her bluster and her pissiness, she had let him in. And that, well, that was something.


	24. Fantasies

**New York 2009**

Buffy spent the rest of the night definitely not asleep. Not that the whole not sleeping thing was new. The not sleeping while he was so close, just in the next room, that was new and terrifying and confusing. But sleeplessness, at least, she was used to.

She was not sure she had made the right decision inviting him in. Inviting him in the first time, when she had been fighting against her psychopath ex-ensouled ex-boyfriend, had probably been a bad idea. Then inviting him in on Thanksgiving, when he had come to her chipped and desperate and looking for help. And then again during the fight with Glory. She had depended on him, charged him with Dawn's life. She couldn't have kept him out then. He had been her ally, in a fight where she needed as many friends as she could get. It would have been wrong. Besides, he had won her respect. She couldn't treat him like a monster, not when he had done so much to help her. He had deserved better than that. And then she had let him back in, again. When he came back to Sunnydale that final time. After he had tried to rape her. After he had won his soul. And now this. How many times would she let him back into her home, back into her life, before she learned her lesson? He always found a way to hurt her. Always found a way to make her regret extending the invitation to him in the first place.

But she didn't learn, and he always managed to find a way in. He discovered the chink through which he could enter her home, her life, her heart. Why had she thought this was going to be any different? It was the same old Buffy and same old Spike. It had been an inevitability, really, that he would worm his way in. That she would let him. That some secret stupid part of her had wanted to let him in again and again and again.

She couldn't shake the feeling that this was a very very bad idea.

Still, just because he was here, that did not mean that they were back together or even that they were okay. All it meant was that things were even more complicated between them and that she was even more of an idiot than she had thought, because she had saved his life, again. Another thing she should have learned years ago. Her life would be easier if she just stopped saving his. Just letting him die would make things so much less confusing for her. So what if it would also make things empty? Empty Buffy was a lot easier that confused, conflicted, depressed and desperate Buffy. Nothingness had to be an improvement over what she was feeling now. Anything had to be an improvement.

And god damn him, this was all his fault. If he wasn't a complete moron, then he would have come to her right away. Then he wouldn't have met his stupid slutty girlfriend and they could have had their happy reunion and their happily ever after. After everything she had been through, everything she had given up, she deserved a happily fucking ever after, or as close to a happily ever after as a Slayer got. But of course not. Slayers didn't get that. Her life was a horror movie, not a fairy tale. And he had been too much of an idiot to change that.

What the hell was she thinking? Spike as Prince Charming? Rushing in on his white horse to sweep her off her feet. And then, what? Because they couldn't ride off into the sunset, not without Prince Charming becoming Prince Charring. Anyway, he rode a hog, not a horse. And he was Spike. The whole idea was so stupid and completely absurd. She just needed to stop. Stop thinking about it. Stop fixating on it. That stupid fantasy of hers. That is not how things happened. Not in her reality. Not really in anyone's reality.

Like all the men in her life, all the men she had loved, he left her. He found a way to abandon her. He wormed his way in and then left her when she needed him the most.

And that was her problem, wasn't it. She still was not ready to not have him in her life. After all these years, all this time, all this pain, some part of her still needed him. So she had let him in. Again. Because some part of her refused to let him go.

She looked at the clock beside her bed. 8:30. He had been in her apartment for over two hours then. She could sense him. Her Slayer instincts warning her against a vampire, a predator, a foe. Her pounding, racing, heart singing out to his silent and still one. And that pretty much summed up the entire schizophrenic Buffy dilemma, didn't it? Part of her believing that it would be best to just be rid of the stupid vampire, part of her loving him, clinging to him, unable to forget him.

She was going to have to get up soon. Shower, eat something, get to class. Plus, she had really had to pee for the past hour and a half. But she couldn't do it. Couldn't go out into the main room of her apartment. Couldn't face him. Not yet.

Because in her bedroom she was safe. She didn't have to deal with him so long as she was protected by the door which separated them. It wasn't much. Flimsy, not even real wood, she guessed. But it was a symbolic separation that she could, and would, cling to. She did not have to make any decisions, figure out what the fuck to do with him, decide how to act towards him, as long as she was safe in her room. She was so not ready to deal with him. Avoidance was definitely her best defense mechanism, at least for now.

But she would have to eventually. As much as she might want to, she was going to have to go out there. Face her demons again. Face his. And she really really had to use the bathroom. Stupid humanness. She really wished that superhuman bladder had be part of the Slayer benefits package.

She got off of her bed lightly and crept towards the door, opening it a crack and peeking through. She had a clear view of the couch. Actually, the apartment was so small she had a clear view of pretty much everything, except the narrow corridor that was her kitchen. But she could see the couch, and she could see him on it. His duster thrown over him, his head resting on a throw pillow, his eyes closed. She breathed a slight sigh of relief. Good, he was still asleep. She might be easier than she had thought. She slipped out the door and moved quietly across the room to the bathroom.

Quickly closing the door behind her, she locked it. She sat on the toilet, holding her head in her hands, relieved that she could, at least, take a pee in peace. She got up, flushed, and went to wash her hands. As she stood in front of the sink, she looked in the mirror hanging over it. God, she looked like shit. She had deep dark circles under her eyes, and her hair was a total disaster. And she looked so gaunt, so drawn. So worn out, the burden she had been carrying for almost half her life grinding her down. Nothing she could do about that, but at least she could rectify the hair situation. That was definitely a battle worth fighting.

She turned the shower on, waiting a minute for it to warm up, letting the warm water engulf her. She would take a shower, fix her hair, put on a bit of make-up, and then go. She could buy breakfast and lunch from one of the little cafes on campus. She didn't have a lot of money to spend, but it was so worth it if she could avoid Spike for a little bit longer. She would pay anything, at this point, to buy herself a little bit more time.

**New York 2009**

Spike opened his eyes, first as narrow slits, then completely. He was pretty sure he had heard the bathroom door close, the hot gush of her piss (he wondered how long she had been holding it for), but he couldn't be too careful. Knew Buffy too well for that. He had figured that she wouldn't want to deal with him this morning, so when he had heard her walk across her room, he had closed his eyes. She had been trying to be quiet, he knew, but humans, it seemed, couldn't help but clomp around. He remembered all of those sodding girls stomping about when Buffy's home had become Fort Summers. Buffy wasn't as bad as that, but he had heard her, shut his eyes, and faked some sleep. He owed her that much, a chance to avoid him, a little more time to figure out everything going on in that annoying, beautiful, bloody silly little skull of hers.

Because it had been good of her to let him. Which is why he had known she would let him in at all. Because Buffy was always good. Bigoted and bitchy and righteous, yeah, but always good, too. Too good, sometimes. Which is why she wouldn't let him kick that final bucket all the way to hell.

He could count on her goodness, but her forgiveness was an entirely different thing. Because no one could hold a grudge like his Slayer. She could be so fucking stubborn. He would have to think of something bloody brilliant to make her realize that she still burned in his soul. That he would still do anything to be with her. That he would still give his life for her again if need be. Although he was hoping it wouldn't come to that. Being burned alive smarted a bit. He enjoyed pain, yeah. But not that much.

He glanced around the apartment again. He could not believe that she was living here. It bloody pissed him off. What the hell was Watcher boy thinking letting her rent this sodding dump. She hadn't done much to fix it up, either. It was less homey than a bloody crypt. But she had never been one for interior decorating though, had she. She had told him so, actually. After all, she was the Slayer, not fucking Martha Stewart. What the hell did she care about drapery, throw rugs, and end tables? Still, the place was damned depressing.

He heard the water for the shower turn on, and he shuddered. God, he hated being so close to her, but unable to touch her, hold her, love her. They were separated not only by the thin door of the bathroom, but by a history of things buggered up so bad that it was breaking both of them. And he bloody well couldn't stand it. Not for long, anyways. He didn't know how much of it he could take, how long she would punish him for. But knowing Buffy, dying might be the less painful option.

The bathroom door was thin, and vampire hearing made him privy to everything that was going on in the, well, privy. He heard her step lightly into the shower, and let out a little half sigh half moan. Some small pleasure, he assumed from the warmth of the water. A moment of relaxation as the warm water streamed over her. He shifted his coat to hide the bulge in his pants, the inevitable outcome of thinking about her naked, soaped up in the shower. The water running down the contours of her body, tiny rivulet skimming over her smooth and silky skin. That body that he had mapped out, explored, remembered so well. The thoughts of what he would do to her if she would let him, the way his fingers would run down her skin, the way her body would respond, yield, to his touch, the way it felt to be completely overwhelmed by her if she would just let him in.

Bloody stupid thoughts, he knew, but he couldn't help thinking them. He was only a bloke, after all. And he wasn't even a very smart one. That was clear from the mess he was in. But he could, would, definitely hide his thoughts, his stiff cock, from her as best he could. He would pretend to be asleep again, when she came out of the bathroom. Make it easier for her to avoid him. At least for a little while longer. Besides, he never was good at making small talk when he had a stiffy. He always said something incredibly daft and usually offensive. A sure bloody tell what was going on in his head and in his jeans. And he didn't want her to guess what he was thinking. Doubted that, at this point, she would be flattered by his fantasies. Definitely knew Buffy too well for that.


	25. Going Back

**New York 2009**

As Buffy neared the door of her apartment she heard the T.V. blaring from within. Great, so he was awake. Well, she couldn't count on him sleeping for ever unless she gave him a poison apple or enchanted spinning wheel or something. Again, the stuff of fairy tells, so far removed from her reality. Sure the monsters were real, but the happily ever after, not so much. Besides, she didn't know if Spike would even eat an apple. He definitely seemed more like junk food guy than healthy fruits and vegetables guy. The only time she had seen him eat a vegetable it had been an onion and it had been deep fried. But it wasn't like he had to worry about keeping the doctor away. One of the benefits of being dead, she guessed, you could eat whatever you want.

And as for a spinning wheel, he probably wouldn't even know what to do with that. Not that she would either. Actually, he might even have a better idea than she did. When were spinning wheels from anyway? Was their time Spike's time or William's time. Willow or Giles would know, but she had no idea.

Not that it mattered, really. The point was that there was no way for her to keep avoiding him. Not without major mystical intervention. And that so rarely ended well.

At least, she had been lucky enough to get out of the apartment that morning without him waking up. She had hurried out, making as little noise as possible, leaving with her hair still damp for fear of using the hair dryer. And he had slept through it all. Slept like the dead, she thought wryly. Which, of course, he was.

She had been at the school all day. On Tuesdays she had her biology class and the three hour lab that went with it. Kinda a boring bio bonus required by the school which she would have happily, more than happily, done without. The professor had kept them the whole time, which usually would have made for a very bored and very pissed off Buffy, but today she had been almost happy to be in class. She would take any excuse to avoid going back to her apartment. Going back to him. She had considered hanging out on campus until after dark, but had decided against it. After all, it was her apartment. She was not going to let her stupid vampire house guest keep her away from what would have to be home, at least for the next three months. At least for as long she was stuck here.

So now she had to stop being avoid-o girl, and deal with him. At least the volume of the television gave her a few minutes to steady herself, steel her resolve, before she went in to face him. Their past few tête-à-têtes had been brutal, and she was so not ready for another. She took a few deep breaths to calm herself, before unlocking the apartment door and entering it.

He was lounging on the couch watching some stupid soap opera. She sighed, some things never changed. It didn't matter how much they had been through, how much of a soap opera their own lives had become, Spike still loved bad day time television. It was so weird for a vampire, and not at all scary for a Big Bad. William the Bloody glued to _Days of Our Lives_ and _As the World Turns_. It was fucking ridiculous. She imagined the fit he must have thrown when _Passions_ was cancelled. He probably had gotten very drunk and very violent when he found out his favorite soap was going off the air. She felt herself almost grin, but stopped herself. Grinning would be a bad idea. Grinning about Spike would be a very bad idea.

"Honey, you're home," Spike drawled, looking up from his stories to greet her.

"And you're still here."

"Still light out, love, don't have much of a choice to be anywhere else. At least not in one piece. Although there could be lots of little pieces, all sailing off to join the great cosmic clusterfuck," he concluded thoughtfully. "Rather poetic if you think about it. Not a bad way for a bloke to go. Fitting," he grinned

"You know what, that's actually a pretty nice thought. Glad you're feeling contemplative," she responded dryly.

"So, what did you learn at school today?" he inquired sarcastically. A performance of nonchalance. An attempt to kind his awkwardness, his unease, his fear.

"Save it, Spike. We are so not doing this," her tone was sharp, hard. It had to be. She had to make herself clear.

"Doing what?"

"The pretending that everything is okay."

"Is that why you bought me dinner?" he gestured to the brown paper bag she was holding. "Can smell it from here, Slayer. Didn't know you delivered."

She looked down at the bag she was holding, and then slumped onto the couch next to him, defeated, resting the bag on the floor. True, she had stopped at a butcher shop on Arthur Ave and bought him blood. At the time it had seemed like the right thing to do, even though she suspected that it was a very bad idea. She didn't seem capable of stopping herself when it came to him. Always giving into impulses, even when she knew it would hurt her, or at least aggravate or annoy her, in the long run.

"After I let you in to save you from becoming all dusty, I figured it would be really stupid to let your ass starve," she explained, dismissing the gesture.

"Well, I appreciate it. You not letting me turn into Bag O'Bones. Means a lot or means something anyway."

Well, it was something, wasn't it? And definitely not something he had expected. Her bringing him blood like this. As he had sat in the apartment all day, his stomach gurgling and growling, he had figured that she would bloody let him starve. Without a second thought too. There was a time when she would have. And then there was a time, another time, a later time, when she had held the packets of blood for him, feeding him because he was dangerous and had to be tied to a chair in her room to keep everyone else in house safe. He had seen so much of the old Buffy, the Buffy that had looked at him with distain and disgust as he drank blood through a straw from the Watcher's novelty mugs, that he had forgotten about the Buffy who had so tenderly cared for him, who had gently wiped the blood from his face and told him she believed in him. She was flipping back between these two versions of herself so quickly, changing the channel before he could suss out exactly which program he was watching.

He looked down, avoiding her gaze, but she could hear the emotion, the confusion in his voice.

She could not let him think that there had been any affection behind or coded within her buying him blood. Only pragmatism. "It was nothing. Really doesn't mean a thing. Didn't know if any of the shops would be open after dark. You can check that on your way to your class tonight." She wasn't sure if he was teaching a class tonight. She just really hoped he was. She just really needed him to leave.

"Cancelled my class for tonight, pet."

"And why is that?"

He turned to look at her expressionlessly. "Don't think it would make a very good first impression, showing up to class like this." His face looked better than it had the night before, but still, discolored with bruises and healing cuts, it did not look good.

"Why? Might put the fear of God or at least the fear of you in them. Be sure nobody will miss any homework assignments. Not with the Big Bad prof in charge." She grinned and he chuckled before they both caught themselves, stopping abruptly. She had to stop doing this. Slipping into this old familiarity with him. But it was so easy, seemed so natural, felt so right. She had to stop doing this. She was angry with him, right? Hated him for hurting her. She couldn't be laughing with him now. Buffy changed her expression from one of amusement to one that she hoped passed for searing hatred and unadulterated rage. Things were easier, safer, that way.

He tilted his head, looking at her. She was behaving so oddly, sending him so many mixed signals he needed a bloody decoder ring to figure her out emotional Morse code. One minute she was laughing with him, the next throwing sodding stakes with her eyes. If looks could kill, then the Slayer had those down pat.

"Alright, Buffy," he said softly, cautiously. "So, where do we go from here?"

"We don't go anywhere," she snapped. "You go out and find an apartment. You go away. And I go to class and the go back to England. There is no we going anywhere. There is no weness at all."

"Balls," he said standing up from the couch. "I can't take any more of this." 

"You can't take this any more? You came to me, you idiot. Remember?"

"Yeah. Well, I suppose did. Must of had a daft notion that you might actually not treat me like shit. Stupid of me, I know," he said, his voice half way between a grumble and a growl.

"You so cannot blame this on, Spike. I didn't ask you here. I didn't invite you over for a fucking slumber party. I let you in because I had to. You didn't give me a choice."

"You could have just fucking let me die. Bloody wish that you had."

"No. I couldn't let you die. You knew that. You knew that I would let you in. But I don't want you here. I actually want to be as far away from you as possible. Like another continent or even another dimension would be perfect."

"Right then," he looked hurt, then angry, "I'll be out of here in a few hours. Once the fucking sun goes down. You won't see me again, Buffy. Can't bloody take this anymore. You with your fucking mood swings and your defensiveness and your sodding righteousness. I can't fucking deal with you anymore. I've taken enough bloody abuse and dealt with enough mixed fucking signals to last me the rest of my bloody unlife. I've fucking had it. You want me out. Fine, I'm fucking out of here, Slayer." Seething, he grabbed his duster and moved to the door before remember that the sun was still up. He was trapped. No way he could storm out and end this stupid, pathetic scene. He settled for impotent fuming and pacing. He would have kicked a hole in the wall, but that would have just gotten her more brassed off and bitchy and he had bloody had enough of that. So he restrained himself. Once the sun went down he could lose himself in violence.

There was a long silence before Buffy answered, tears welling up in her eyes. "I can't do this anymore," she murmured, her head cradled in her arms. She looked up, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Spike. No. Wait. I don't want you to go. Not really. I say I do. But I don't mean it."

There she had said it, realizing, admitting, the reason she had so desperately avoided him. The reason she had wanted to flee to England. Had wanted to be so far away from him. It wasn't because she was angry, or because she hated him. No matter what she might tell herself. The reason was that now that she had seen him again, she could not let herself let go. She had wanted to force the separation because she was not strong enough to sustain it on her own. She had tried to drive him away with anger and harsh words, inciting his own rage, because when it came down to it, she was not strong enough to stay away. Her weakness in this moment proved it. She had almost been free of him, but she could not let him go.

And, she guessed, denial, of her feelings, of her weakness, was easier when he was not near her to remind her of everything she wanted, of everything she had lost.

He was before her in an instant, kneeling down in front of her, his mood, his tone completely altered. Guess she wasn't the only one whose mood hung on a sodding pendulum. He was her bitch, at least that he was fucking sure of. The moment she offered him the smallest morsel of hope, the slightest sliver, it brought him to his bloody knees. "What do you mean, then?" his words unsure, anxious, eager, barely more than a whisper. His eyes searched her face, full of fear, confusion, and desire. Wishing desperately for her answer and completely afraid of what she might respond.

"I don't know. I don't know anymore, Spike. Things used to be so clear. So easy. Now its all greyish and I just don't know. I should be furious with you, Spike. I should hate you and hit you and yell at you again for being a dufus. For dying. For leaving me. For not coming to me when you came back. For hurting me again. After everything I've been through. Everything we have. I should tell you to leave, or walk out of here myself, and never think about you again." Spike opened his mouth about to say something. "But I can't. I'm not strong enough. I should hate you, but I can't. I should leave you, but I won't. All I know is that I can't keep doing this with you. But I'm still not ready for you not to be in my life. I'm just so tired of this all and I don't know what to do."

It killed Spike, as much as a dead man could die, to see her like this, her eyes full of tears, her lower lip trembling, her words of hurt and angry and confusion tumbling forth. It broke his unbeating heart to see his Slayer so exhausted, so unsure, so lost, and it was torture to know that he was the source of it all. "Buffy," he moved to her, held her, whispered her name over and over again. Trying to sooth her, to reassure her, to show her that his love for her was unaltered. He was still hers, would be until he died. In the permanent sense of the world. Eventually she quieted.

"We don't need to figure it out now, pet," he reassured her. "Just knowing that you want me here, even just a little, well, that's enough for me. Lived on whatever crumbs you'd throw me for years. Was enough for me then, and its bloody plenty for me now."

"Then what should we do?" she asked, her nose red and stuffy, eyes blood shot from her tears. Spike thought she looked beautiful.

"We could, you know, hang out. Watch the telly or something," he offered.

"That's, well, it's lame actually."

He shrugged. "It's a start, isn't it?"

"I guess so," she readjusted herself next to him on the couch. Not touching him, certainly not cuddling, but close, the hostility gone, the defensiveness departed.

Spike flipped through the channels, trying to find something to watch. Most of it was complete rubbish. Not that it mattered, really. Buffy had fallen asleep almost at once, and he could spend the whole night just watching her. The telly, really, was just an alibi.


	26. Strength

**New York 2009**

Buffy woke up feeling cozy and warm. She did not open her eyes at once, but enjoyed the peace, the calm, that had filled her, surrounded her. Things suddenly felt right, like things in her world were suddenly the way they should be. Like all the pieces had finally fallen into place, completing the puzzle that was her life, and everything was finally, miraculously, okay.

She felt like she was finally back in heaven and she so hoped that she would not be pulled out again. Only this time it was different. For one thing, she wasn't dead, at least she was pretty sure she wasn't, but she felt warm, safe, complete. She felt better than she had the past eight years. If not longer than that.

She snuggled down further into the couch, not wanting to rejoin the world, not wishing to relinquish this feeling of contentment that had washed over her. The couch wasn't particularly comfy, okay, it wasn't really at all comfy, and she would be stiff as hell when she finally got up, but right now she was snug and warm and cozy and secure and so not ready to face the world. She pulled Spike's duster closer around her, breathing in the scent of cigarettes and leather and him.

Her eyes flew open. Spike's duster. Spike. The source of her sudden contentment, her newly discovered peace. Her sense of heaven. She remembered finally admitting to him what she felt for him, and then drifting off to sleep, unable to keep her eyes open as he flipped through television channels, refusing to watch one station for more that one point three seconds.

The room was dimly lit, blinds and thin curtains keeping out the direct sunlight. But it was clearly daylight, which meant that she had slept for at least twelve hours. Spike was asleep on the other end of the couch, still sitting, his head tilted to the side. She had no idea when he had passed out, but the TV was still on, the volume low. Probably didn't want to disturb her, and with his vamp hearing, he didn't need the TV to be blaring. He just liked it that way, she remembered.

He too looked so peaceful, so content. Feasting on the crumb she had thrown him the night before. Savoring it, she figured, until she decided again to stop being a bitch and give him another little morsel of hope, another slight indication that she loved him. That she would let him back into her, her life, her body, her heart. He had always so gladly taken what scraps she threw his way.

In the dim morning light he also looked remarkably, annoyingly handsome. Unfairly too, she thought, as she felt where her hair had been flattened and tangled by sleeping on the couch. She looked like shit, she was pretty sure: her hair a mess, yesterday's make-up smeared from sleep and tears, her clothes rumpled. It was totally unfair for anyone to look that, well, perfect this early in the morning.

But he did. His face was almost completely healed now; only one particularly persistent bruise remained, faded, on his right cheek bone. She wondered how she could have convinced herself for so long that she was not attracted to him. How she could have possibly been disgusted by Dawn's teenage crush on him. True, at that point he was still evil. Or relatively evil. Or less good. Or whatever it was that he was at that point. Still, even if she was the Slayer, she was still a woman and not completely blind.

Of course, it had been easier when she had been oblivious to his attractions. When she had dismissed him as evil. Before things had become complicated by alliances and love. Before she had realized that Angel was not the only vampire with an angelic face.

But Spike's face wasn't exactly angelic, was it? There were far too many angles, too sharply drawn. His cheekbones were too pronounced, his cheeks too hollow for him to be an angel. And then there was the sensuality of his mouth, with that full, kinda pouty lower lip. And the intensity of those eyes, those icy blue depth in which a girl could completely lose herself. In which she had. And then there was the hair. She so doubted that angels had bad dye jobs, or that the heavenly choirs went for the whole punk thing. So, no, Spike was no angel. He had never claimed to be.

Except that he had brought her back to heaven. Brought her back to peace.

And now she had a choice. She could continue to hurt him back for hurting her, torturing herself in the process. Or she could let them both be happy. For once. For once they could be together, really together, without an apocalypse and her own fucked-upness looming over them. Because, they had never really been happy together. They had been desperate, passionate, depressed, numb, orgasmic, and afraid. But they had never really been happy. Now she could give that to them, if she could get over her own stupid feelings of being slighted, neglected, forgotten. It all seemed so easy now that she was here with him. Now that she had let down her guard enough to admit what he still meant to her, the love that she could no longer deny, the need that was so much stronger than she was.

If only the past week hadn't happened. If only they could wipe their relationship slate clean of all of those stains of pain and exploitation, the blemishes of hurt and betrayal. If only they could be rid of the past that threatened to crush them both.

Of course, that was not a possibility. They would always have their history to haunt them, follow them, never let them forget what they had been to each other in the past. The past could not be avoided or forgotten or ignored. It would follow them, whether they wanted it to or not. It had shaped them into what they were now. What they would become. There was no way to escape it or ignore it. She was her past as much as she was her destiny.

He opened his eyes, his head tilted back, looking at her. "Morning, sunshine," he grinned.

"Sunshine kills you, Spike," she was annoyed. Couldn't he have come up with a less, you know, deadly term of endearment.

"Well aware of that fact, love. Beautiful and fatal and burning me to a bloody crisp. Sounds a lot like you, doesn't it Slayer?"

"That's what you think of me?" she asked sadly. "All I do is hurt you."

"Not all, love. But we've got a long history of hurt, Buffy," he said, gently. "There's no denying it. I hurt you. You hurt me, and round and round it bloody goes. Just waiting for the ride to stop this particular go around, yeah."

"Do you think we could not? Not hurt each other, I mean. Do you think it's even possible?" she asked cautiously, afraid of his answer.

"Anything's possible, pet. Especially in our world. Hell, we live in a world of impossibilities, don't we? Most people would call my very existence impossible."

"I don't mean impossible like monsters and magic, Spike. I mean like impossible impossible. Like impossible us impossible. It just seems like we are drawn together, but whenever we get close there is always something to pull us apart."

"And you're wondering if we're strong enough to stand against it, are you, love?"

"Yeah, I guess. I mean it has been kinda a Buffy-Spike Hurt-o-thon between us. And yet for some reason I want to throw myself back into the pain-a-palooza and try again. That isn't normal, is it? I mean it can't be healthy, but I'm not sure it can be helped either."

He laughed sharply, then looked apologetically at her hurt expression. "Sorry, love, know it's a dream of yours, but we're not exactly normal. We left normal quite a ways back, on the corner of Slayer and Vamp, you know." She looked upset. He sighed. "But that non-normality only makes us stronger, Buffy. And if its strength you think we need, well, we've got that in bleeding spades."

Shit, Buffy though. Suddenly she realized she had been thinking about this all wrong. How could she have been so stupid? She had thought that she needed to be strong enough to stay away from him. To deny the temptation of him. To fight against her feelings for him. She hadn't considered that maybe she just needed to be strong enough to love him. That her strength lay in her love, not in her resistance to it. That her weakness was in her refusal of love, her strength in her acceptance of it.

She had been fighting against him, them, for so long, she hadn't realized that the real test of her strength was in fighting for them.

Why had she been so stupid, why hadn't she understood this before? Stupid Buffy, as usual, making with dumbness and the relationship fucking-upness. No wonder her love life had always been so tragic, she didn't even fucking understand how to love. What strength it required. She had always associated her strength with the denial of what she wanted. The normal life with the normal boyfriend and the general normalness. She had had to deny it. Had been kinda forced to give it up by destiny and duty, not to mention the fact that whenever she tried to be normal, it seemed, supernatural badness ensued, reminding her of what she was. And what she was not. She had always seen strength in her sacrifice of normalcy. She hadn't realized that strength was also in fighting for the things you wanted, not just giving them up.

She was officially hopeless.

Except that she wasn't. She was actually chock full of hope. Because he was here with her now, and they were going to try again. If he would have her. She was going to let him again and they were going to love and fight together through whatever life and all the evil in the universe could throw their way.

"What are you getting at anyway, Buffy?" he asked her slowly, uncertainly, pulling her out of her thoughts.

"I am so done with all of this. It's not sustainable and it's slowly destroying both of us. Something has to give, Spike. So lets just do it," she said at last, a weary grin spreading across her features.

"Alright Nike, and exactly do you mean by 'it'?" Spike purred suggestively, his tongue curling behind his teeth, unable to resist the innuendo. He didn't want piss off Buffy, especially since she seemed to be in one of her pleasanter moods. Seemed to be finally coming around. He was an idiot, pushing her to swing back into Buffy bitch mode. Couldn't just be bloody satisfied that she had changed her tune. At least now it seemed like she was warming up for a silly love song. At least he hoped she was. Never could be sure of her.

"No," she responded, too sharply, too quickly, she realized. "Not that. Not right away anyway," she actually blushed. "I mean us. Lets do us again. Try us again."

"You sure about that, pet?" he asked her. "I mean, you won't get an argument from me. I've no pride when it comes to you, and I'll bloody grovel my way back in if I have to. But are you sure, you know, for you?"

"Positive." She felt all of her confidence return to her. All of her doubts erased. "I love you. You love me. I'm done punishing you, punishing myself for past mistakes. I'm finished pushing everyone away and then complaining that I'm all alone. And it's right for us to be together. I know it. I feel it. Your soul and mine. They might not be mates, but they belong together. There is a reason you got yours. I think mine was calling out to it. Because it didn't want to be alone. And I don't want to be alone. Not ever again. I've tried to deny it, but it doesn't work. I've waited so long, been through so much, and I've never been so sure of anything. It might be crazy and stupid and wrong and it might kill me in the end, but I want to be with you, Spike."


	27. Normal Couples

**New York 2009**

Spike did not say anything for a few moments. He couldn't. Bloody speechless he was. Buffy was completely bug-shagging crazy. She was indecisive and rash and confusing as hell and god how he loved her. When he had come to her, he had expected a few insults and an eventual inevitable eviction notice. He knew how stubborn his Slayer could be when she put her mind to something. And it seemed that she had put her mind to hating him and forcing him out of her life. He had managed to wriggle his way back in, but he hadn't expected to stay there.

And he certainly hadn't expected her to suggest they give another go at it. It was more than he had dreamed or dared to hope from her.

She was a mess of contradictions, his Slayer, his Buffy. She could be so stubborn and so indecisive. So resolute when she was doing her Slayer bit, so confused and conflicted and afraid when she was Buffy. She was a fearless general and a girl too scared to let herself love. Bloody schizophrenic it was. And he loved her for it. For trying to navigate through these split and conflicting personalities, and hoping that through it all she would find her way to him.

And it seemed that finally she had. The two parts of herself had found some sort of resolution. And where they met, it seemed, they had found room for him. To let him in. Let him love her. The Slayer. The girl. His Buffy. The complete package. One hell of a woman.

So he was speechless. Because he hadn't really believed that this would happen. Not after all the manipulation and the hate sex. Not after he had let his demon take over and he had tried to rape her on her bathroom floor. Not after he had won his soul and realized how deeply she was hurting, how deeply he had hurt her. Not after he died and came back and had failed go back to her. Not after he had started sleeping with Rae, started living with her, started being with her the way he had for as long as he had. Not after he had buggered up their reunion so badly. Not even after she had let him in, again. Not even after she had let him know he was still important to her. That she still needed him somewhere in her world, her life. So he didn't know what to say. But he knew from the way she was looking at him, hurt, conflicted, that he bloody better get it together and say something soon.

Buffy nervously chewed her lower lip. Why wasn't he saying anything? Spike wasn't ever speechless, ever. Not even when he really really should be. So why wasn't he saying anything now, when he really really really should. She had just made herself completely vulnerable to him. Had opened up entirely and invited him in. Asked him to be with her. And she really needed an answer. Now was so not a good time for him to finally shut up.

"Spike?" she asked, when the vampire did not respond.

He shook his head, as if clearing it, "Sorry, love, in shock is all."

"In shock?"

"Yeah, think my heart stopped beating there for a second."

"You're heart doesn't beat. Like ever."

"Oh. Well, that explains the strange stillness, doesn't it? Just didn't except to hear that from you. Not like that."

"What do you mean by that, Spike?" Buffy asked, somewhat annoyed. Why was he giving her a hard time about this? Why couldn't he just accept it, accept her?

"Just thought I was bloody going to have to do a lot more begging before you would take me back, was all. I was prepared for it, too. Had speeches all written and the groveling all memorized," he grinned, "well, maybe not that prepared, never was one for planning, you know."

Buffy smiled and shook her head, remembering his stupid schemes. The time he had attacked her two days early because he was impatient for a fight, the time had neglected to keep a transport of demon eggs frozen. But she couldn't help but look back on his stupidity, even his evil stupidity, his complete lack of foresight, with a certain stupid fondness because it was who he was. Rash, spontaneous, passionate willing to follow his gut even if it caused him more trouble that it was worth. She must really be stupidly in love, she thought. But at least now she was being smart enough to let herself enjoy it. "You can be such an idiot sometimes, you know that Spike."

"All too well, Summers. That's why I let you do most of the planning, and I stick with following orders and the begging when necessary. Things are simplier that way."

"Well, I am plan girl. She who is chosen to boss others around. Can't help it. It's all part of my destiny, I guess."

"Right, so then, Slayer, what's the plan?" he asked, cautiously.

"Plan for what?"

"You know… for us."

She looked deeply into his eyes, those deep sapphires that drew her in. That threatened to drown her. No. Not threatened. It was too, well, threatening. That promised to engulf her in love tinglies and warm fuzzies as soon as she was ready to let them.

"Do we really need a plan? Can't we just be us, Spike? Isn't that enough? I don't have a plan. To be honest, I don't even know what I'm doing at this point. I just know that this feels right."

"I'm fine with following my instincts, my blood, Buffy. Just not sure you'll appreciate where that's heading at this particular moment."

"What?" Buffy asked, as Spike gave her a knowing, suggestive, look, arching an eyebrow and smirking. God, how he used to tease her, torture her with that look. He was teasing her still. "Oh. That." Buffy blushed again. That. That sex thing that they had always been so good at, even when they hadn't been good at all. She should have guessed that's what he would be thinking about. It was Spike, after all. The name said everything. Mr. Phallus. It would be a miracle if he ever thought with his actual brain.

"Yeah," Spike grinned, "that," he purred, his tongue curled around the word, caressing it, drawing her in. She could feel her arousal pooling between her thighs. God, she hadn't realized how badly she wanted that with him. So badly. Right here, right now. On the floor, against the wall. She needed it and it terrified her. She was so not ready for that. Wouldn't be for a while. Bad was really the key word. She wanted it so badly, but had a feeling only badness could come of it. She still wasn't sure about them, if they could really do this, if they could work. She wanted to try, that she was sure of. But, she couldn't open herself up to that final vulnerability with him. Not yet. Not if she wanted it to be right. And she did. She wanted it to mean something this time. Not just fucking and pleasure, but something more. She wanted to give herself to him completely, and she just couldn't do that yet.

"The reason why I think some loose parameters might not be such a bad idea, yeah," he continued, carefully watching her expression, realizing her inner struggle.

"I think we should take things slow. None of… that," no matter how much she wanted to, no matter how much her body was burning to be with his. "Not until we figure some things out. Its been so long, Spike, how do we even know we really want to be together? I mean really together. We never have been, you know, large with the coupliness. It might not even work for us."

Spike chuckled. "Is that what you're worried about, Buffy? That we can't do couple things? Whatever the hell that means," his tone changed to a grumble.

He guessed he had already done the couple thing. With Rae. They lived together, worked together, their lives orbiting the same center. And it had been nice. Comforting. Bloody good to know there was someone who cared about him, loved him, someone to care about and love. But it had also been nothing compared to what he had with Buffy. What they could have, if she let him. At this point, though, he would take whatever she fucking gave him.

"Well, yeah. I mean, hello, you're a vampire. And I don't have a great track record of making with the normal. What if we are all just passion and no, you know, sustainableness?"

"Not sure I followed that turn, love."

"What I mean is that we have always had passion. The fucking, the loving, even the fighting. It's all been about passion with us. We never did the normal things that couples do. You know, the dates and movie nights and stuff like that. When we went out it was always patrol, when we stayed in it was always sex. It was always action and excitement and adrenaline. You know? I mean, what if its not really real" she finished weakly.

Spike sighed. When would she get it. This was real. The really realest thing he had ever known. The one thing he had truly ever believed in. Because he had never doubted her and now he refused to doubt them. When would she also stop questioning and bloody second guessing him. Them. "Yeah, pet, I got it. You want all that boring stuff that old married folks do."

"It doesn't necessarily have to be boring."

"Okay, then, you want all of the thrilling adventure of ordering in Chinese food and braving the dangers of the cinema?" he asked dryly.

She grinned, "You never know, with us it could be dangerous. Like MSG is bad, right," she wasn't sure exactly what MSG was, but she had heard warnings about it. He looked at her skeptically, unconvinced. "Okay, so food additives are hardly apocalyptic, but what about a Chinese food delivery demon or a movie theatre full of gremlins or something."

Spike cleared his throat, "I think living on a Hellmouth all those years severely skewed your sense of normalcy, Slayer." He paused, "Listen Buffy, if it is normal boring couple stuff you're playing at, then I'm game. I'll take you to dinner and a movie, out for drinks or coffee, or whatever. I know that you've always wanted it and never really got it. Not since solider boy took off. But, know this, Buffy. Its just play. Its not really us. So if you want us to be us, that's fine and its one thing. If you want us to be normal that's another entirely. You can plan it out and I'll follow the script. And I'll do either, as long as I can be with you."

She looked up at him, her green eyes wide with understanding. He was right. Normal wasn't them. Couldn't be. "Can we at least try and be normal sometimes?"

"As normal as a vampire in love with a vampire Slayer and a vampire Slayer in love with a vamp can be, I suppose."

"I mean, can we at least pretend?" her green eyes were intently upon him, searching. He sighed. When would she realize that normal wasn't better, it was mediocre. William had been a normal Victorian loser. It wasn't until he had become a vampire, become William the Bloody, that he had become any one at all. There were a lot of things he had done as a vampire that he now regretted, that haunted him and plagued him with guilt. Escaping the monotony of normalcy was not one of them.

"We can play dress up and play the part all you like Buffy, just as long as you know, love, that its just costumes. And when they come off, then, pet, its just you and me."

Buffy grinned, "Don't think I want it to be anyone else when the clothes come off, Spike."

She tentatively reached out to him, brushing the side of his face with her fingers. He turned his head, brushing his lips against her fingertips. She scooched closer to him, a move, which she knew, was neither graceful nor sexy, but she wanted to be near to him. They had been apart for far too long. He moved towards her, too, although without the awkwardness of her movements, she noted a bit resentful. She scooched, he slid.

She laid her head on his shoulder, and he put his arm around hers, holding her close. He could sense that she was not ready for any more intimacy. Not the physical kind and not at the moment, anyway. Now that he had her back, he wasn't concerned. He would wait forever for her to be ready to really be with him in every meaning of the word.

"Tell me I'm not still asleep, that this all isn't some dream," she said softly.

"Not unless I'm having the same one, pet."

"Its happened before. Not with you and mean, but the whole dream share thing."

"I'm pretty sure I'm awake."

"Do you want me to punch you to make sure?" she inquired with mock sweetness.

"Oi! I thought it was supposed to be just a pinch."

"Well, with most people, yeah. But, we're not most people."

"Can see why you want to be normal, pet. Hurts a lot less."

"Yeah, it does. But if we were normal, we wouldn't have this. Wouldn't have each other. And even though it hurts sometimes, it's something I wouldn't trade all the normalness in the world for."


	28. House of Cards

**New York 2009**

"Stupid math. Stupid French," Buffy muttered as she hurried to campus. After six long years and a week of torture she had finally gotten Spike back. Had finally realized what it was to really love him. And now she had to leave again because she didn't want to be late to class. Which would be very bad. Especially since she had not exactly done her homework and actually had no idea what she was supposed to be learning. Spike, of course, had pressed her to cut her classes. When she told him that his colleagues would probably be very not pleased with him and that he was a bad influence, he shrugged and grumbled something about evilness and being a vampire. "You have a soul now," she reminded him, "the evil excuse doesn't work anymore."

She wondered what it would be like when she got home to the apartment. Funny how she had not been able to think of it as home until now. Until Spike came and filled it with his annoying, loving presence. She finally felt like she belonged somewhere because she knew she belonged with him.

Still, she was nervous. She did not know what to expect. They had never really done the couple thing, and she didn't know what it would be like. Living with him. Her taking classes, him teaching them. And whatever else he did. His life was so much of a mystery to her. It was all so surreal. Not real at all. Like she was living in a dream. Or the alternate dimension theory still seemed very viable.

She was afraid that things would be awkward or strained. They had made this kind of a commitment to one another, admitted their love, but what if it wasn't enough. What if he decided that things had been easier with his old girlfriend and went back to her?

Because things between them had always been a lot of things, but easy was never one of them.

But he had said that he was willing to fight for her, for them, hadn't he? And when it came to a fight, Spike was one of the best warriors she knew. One of the most stubborn too. If he fought for something he would win or would die trying.

It was the latter clause that scared her. What if she killed them both again?

These fears and doubts hounded her during her classes. She could in no way pay attention to the professors as they droned on about… what? Buffy hadn't the faintest idea what all the droning had been about. Just knew that it had been.

This was so not good. She had to do well in these classes. She would really need to focus on her homework when she got home tonight. At that thought she laughed out loud, attracting a few confused glances from her classmates, and a disapproving look from the professor. So, apparently, whatever he was droning about, it wasn't exactly funny. But seriously, like there was even the possibility of focus or homework. Yeah, even if she tried to do it, to figure out on her own what she had missed while zoned out in class, there was no way she could focus on it. Not with those sapphire eyes gazing at her. Or with the way that he cocked his head to the side and looked at her, practically through her. No wonder her saw things others didn't with those deep penetrating eyes. No not penetrating. No penetrating. And then there was the way that he licked his full oh-so-way-too- kissable lips sometimes when he thinking. And the way he curled his tongue behind his teeth when he was being suggestive or annoying.

She shuddered at the thought of it, growing moist between her legs. God, the man practically oozed sexiness, and sex, and sexuality. She blushed. Oozed was, well, ew, but accurate. As much as she hated to admit it, she had kinda been oozy girl all afternoon. Again with the ew. But, yeah still accurate.

Which was so not okay, because that was the other thing she was nervous about. That. Because she wanted to let go. To let him love her. Like that. To be strong enough to love him physically. To let him come into her body, the way she had let him back into her life. But she was afraid. After all, they had only really made love once. And then it had been under the shadow of impending doom, in the oppressive darkness of the apocalypse. It had so full of sorrow and desperation. And although she had tried to tell him through her body, she had been unable to admit to him how she felt. That she had finally fallen deeply and irretrievably in love with him. She had waited until it was too late that time, and was afraid to wait too long again to let him know how she felt, what she felt.

But sex was so loaded with them. She had used it, used him, to hurt herself, release herself, make herself feel again. She had used him for pleasure and pain. She had degraded herself and degraded him and had gotten off on it. And that had hurt him too. She did not want to go back to that dark place within herself. She did not want to go to that dark place within him as well.

Which was why she had imposed the temporary sexual hiatus. The very very temporary sexual hiatus. She knew it wouldn't, couldn't last. The attraction was too great, the arousal too strong. There was too much fire between them. And there was no way she could spend night after night in that tiny apartment with him and not give into the temptations, the cravings. It wasn't just physical either. Her soul yearned for that closeness with his.

She remembered fighting against her desire for him in the past. The year when her world, her life at become a prison, a hell, for her. When she had felt so numb with shock and grief and disappointment. And she had turned to him, clung to him to help her feel. And she had hated him and herself for her need, her craving. She had hurt him every chance she got, degraded him to elevate herself. To make him lower so that she could feel higher on the righteousness food chain. It hadn't worked, of course. She hadn't stopped despising herself, and desiring him. All of that fighting had been useless and, by any measures, no good.

He had forgiven her for all of it, of course. Had pointed out how much worse his own actions, his own transgressions, his own sins had been. But, still she felt so guilty about it all. And she wasn't sure if she could love him the way that he deserved to be loved. The way she deserved to love someone.

She was full of love, her spirit guide had told her. Now she just needed to figure out how to pull that love out of her self. She had always kept it locked away, hidden inside of her, had always withheld it. Especially when it came it him. Sure she had made the confessions, had told him how she felt. But when it came down to it, she was still afraid to show him, to let him feel how much he meant to her, how much she loved him.

Because she was so afraid of hurting herself, of hurting him, again. Of returning the darkness within her and being unable to find her way back.

Besides, the sex thing had never worked out well for her. She hadn't gotten to off to a stellar start with it, what with turning Angel evil and everything. Then there had been the great Parker debacle. She had been so young and stupid and it had hurt her so badly. And with Riley it hadn't exactly been terrible, although the first time he had had sex with her it had actually been not her at all. Sex with Riley had always been safe, but not satisfying. Well, except for that one time in the poltergeist infested frat house. That was the only time that their sex had been anything other than vanilla. Well, it had been vanilla, but they had added some hot fudge and a cherry on top. She blushed. Not literally, of course, it was totally figurative hot fudge and a metaphoric cherry. Regardless, it was still vanilla underneath. Maybe Spike was right, she did not that element of danger, a bit of monster, to be completely satiated.

And Spike had given her danger, hadn't he. And mind blowing orgasms. She wasn't sure Spike was ice cream at all. She wasn't sure what he was. But it definitely was not vanilla.

She shuddered at the memory of how he had made her feel. There was no way she was going to be able to live with him with thoughts like these penetrating her consciousness. Okay, penetrating, very bad word choice. Again. Pounding into her consciousness? Not any better. With thoughts like these in her head. That would have to do.

God, her desire was even dictating her vocabulary.

There was no way that she could live with him thinking like this. It would be torture for both of them. Her head full of these thoughts, the evitable and embarrassing Freudian slips, and the fact that he would probably be able to smell her arousal. Which was definitively ew worthy, but also not going to make things any easier for them.

It was another situation which was not sustainable.

So she knew what she had to do. She would go home and she would be strong enough to love him. To really love him. To give herself to him fully.

So what of the house of cards she had constructed around their relationship was tumbling, it wouldn't be the first time a house had fallen down around them.

She would break Rule # 173 again.


	29. The Chosen One

**New York, 2009**

After classes, Buffy found herself, for the first time, in a hurry to get home to her apartment. To her home. To the place where she now knew she belonged. To him. She was practically skipping through campus, and she could only imagine the silly smile plastered on her face. She must look like a total moron. Or like a woman in love. She was definitely one of those things. The jury was still pretty much out on which.

Still, it had been the first time in a long time that she had felt eager, excited, for anything. The first time in a long time that she felt like she wasn't just going through the motions of her day. Her life. The first time since he had died that she felt like she was really living.

And it scared the shit out of her.

Because even though she had decided to be with him, she still had her doubts. Major doubts. About if it was really the right thing to do. To let him back into her home, her life, her body. About whether or not she should really do this with him. Again. After everything that had happened. About whether or not she really could.

She had always had problems with intimacy. Well, always after Angel. She had held back from Riley. Kept him at a safe distance. Always made sure that he loved her more than she loved him. And she had done the same thing to Spike, too, hadn't she? Except worse. Because she had used him, exploited him, beat him, and fucked him, and she hadn't loved him at all. Well, not until it had been too late.

And now she was afraid. Afraid that she might be pulling her Buffy intimacy issue bullshit again. Afraid that she wasn't. Afraid that this time the stakes were reversed and she was the one who risked being hurt. That she was the one that loved more. That this time she was the one who was convenient.

And she hated it. Because she was the Slayer. She who stakes. Not the other way around. It had happened a few times and she had somehow managed to escape, but she so did not like any reversing of the stakes. That way laid badness and the possible abdominal wound.

But hadn't she lost the power, the upper hand. Wasn't she the one making with the openness and the vulnerability?

Because he was the one who had moved on, wasn't he? And hadn't he seemed willing to stay moved on until the other woman had kicked him out?

How could she help but think that she had come in second place? That she was his consolation prize. His second choice.

He had told her himself that he had no where else to go. She had been his last resort. Not his first. He wouldn't have gone to her if he had had anywhere else to go.

So how could she know if he really loved her, really wanted her? Maybe she really was just being an idiot, making a fool out of herself. Throwing herself at a man who saw her as the first runner up in the Ms. The Bloody pageant 2009.

Her pace slowed. This was a mistake. She couldn't do this. Not with him. Not now. Not ever. She was just so confused. So full of doubt. She doubted him. Doubted herself. Her ability to love. Him. Anyone. Her love was staring her in the face and she was too stupid too blind to really see it. Really recognize it for what it was and accept it. Because this really was love.

Wasn't it?

Or maybe it was like he had told her all those years ago. At a point when her life had been so fucked up that she would have preferred being a lunatic to having to live as Buffy the Vampire Slayer for another day. When she would have preferred imprisonment in a psych-ward to the cell her life, her duty, her depression had become. At least in a psych-ward her room would be padded. Some sort of cushion against the hardness of life. It wasn't exactly a holiday, but at least it was escape.

At that point he had told her that she couldn't, wouldn't let herself just be happy. That she was too addicted to the pain, the suffering, the martyrdom.

And she had established an identity through martyrdom, hadn't she? The poor duty bound Slayer. The maker of heroic sacrifice. Fuck, she had died twice. It didn't get much more martyry than that. She had used her suffering and her sacrifice to define herself.

So maybe she was doing it again. The not letting herself do the happy thing. Because she didn't know how to be happy and the Slayer. She had been content in her life, once she had accepted her calling, her identity. And sure, there had been happy moments. Its not like she had been depresso-girl twenty four seven. But since being called, her life had been mostly cloudly with a chance of death and depression. Mostly angst with rare moments of sunshine. Of happiness.

Maybe happy Slayers just didn't exist. Or maybe happy Slayers became happy meals. Maybe her inability to be happy was a survival mechanism.

Or maybe she was just making up excuses.

Maybe this wasn't a Slayer thing at all. Maybe it was just a Buffy Summers thing.

Whatever it was. She was so not sure that she could deal with it.

But she was at her apartment now. And she knew Spike would be waiting for her, and she didn't know what to expect from him. Or what he would expect from her.

She opened the door slowly. Spike was lying on the couch. One leg flung over the armrest. He seemed so confident. So sure of himself. Of her. So at ease.

It made her feel reassured and more doubty, somehow at the same time. And apparently very very confused. If only there was some way to stop doing the weird insecurity and second guessing thing. Only, it seemed that there wasn't. That she couldn't not doubt him, doubt herself. That she seemed completely unable to simply accept him and his love. She had to make everything a trial, a test, a problem. God, she had major issues. And she didn't think she could do this. Not for real. Not with him sitting right there.

He looked up as soon as she, gazing at her, his head tilted to one side. "Hello, love. You look, well, glum."

"I don't know if I can do this, Spike," she said shaking her head.

He sighed, "Singing this tune again, are you, Buffy? Was wondering when we would have a reprise of that number. Have to admit I saw that coming." He stood up and walked towards her, gently placing his hands on her shoulders. "Do you think we could skip to the final verse, pet, when it turns out everything is okay? I think you've played enough on my heart strings, yeah?"

"I'm serious, Spike. I don't know if I can do this. Like if I'm actually physically, or emotionally, or spiritually, or intellectually, or whatever ally makes you capable of love, able to this this."

"What are you on about? Of course you are able to love, Buffy. Bloody hell, woman, you love more than anybody I know."

"Then why can't I just love you."

He took a step back, away from her, pulling his arms tight against his chest. He looked like she had just slapped him. Or, punched him in the nose, which was definitely more her style. "What the fuck? Now, your saying you don't love me? Fuck Buffy, you are the most confusing," he paused for a moment searching for the word, "thing, I have ever met. The bloody Sphinxes have nothing on you, thats for damn certain. You're a bloody mystery, Buffy, I swear, and you sure as hell won't let anyone in, and you're fucking sure not to let anyone figure you out, isn't that right."

"No," she said quickly. "Confused. Yes. Confusing. No. Well maybe I am confusing, but only because I'm all with the confusion myself. And its not that I don't love you, Spike. I do. God, I do. But I'm afraid to love you love you, you know?"

He moved toward her again. "What have you got to be afraid of, pet?"

She swallowed. Her mucus and her pride. Mucusy pride. Always got stuck in her throat. "That you don't love me as much as I love you. That I'm your second choice. That... that... that I'm just convenient," she said softly, afraid to meet his gaze. Even as she said it, she realized how insecure, how stupid, she sounded. Like she was still a teenager. But she couldn't help it. Maybe Angel had fucked her up even more than she had realized.

He actually laughed. "You might actually be barmier than Dru, you know that?" He paused, "How could you possibly think that?" he continued in a more serious tone.

"You moved on, Spike," her voice came out harder than she had intended, and she watched the muscles in his face tense, preparing for another fight. "And you didn't come to me until after she kicked you out. I was your consolation prize."

"She told me I could come back, Buffy," he said softly. "Told me she only needed a few days to be alone, come to terms with some things, I reckon, do whatever it is you birds do in those situations. I coulda gone into the sewers, slummed about for a few days, and then gone back."

Her face fell, "So, are you telling me you are leaving?"

"Not in the least. I'm telling you that you were never second place or second choice or any of that bollocks. I came to you not because I had to, but I wanted to. I chose you, Buffy. And I'll choose you every bloody chance I get. You know that. So don't you worry that beautiful brain of yours, love, you're still the Chosen One. At least to me. You're the one, the only one, Buffy. Don't know how many times you'll make me say it, but I'll say it every time. I love you. Get that through that thick, stubborn, silly skull of yours, Slayer. I love you. And no other girl or woman or whatever will ever change that. But you didn't give me much hope, yeah? With the I'll-never-be-your-girl bit and the storming off. Didn't give a bloke much to cling too."

She looked into his eyes and she believed him. The earnestness in them. She had seen that look before and she knew he wasn't lying to her. His soul spoke to hers, murmuring the proofs of his love, reassuring her, gently leading her back to him.

She grinned. "That never stopped you before."

"Suppose it didn't. But then again, didn't stop me this time, either. I'm here, aren't I. Won you over again with my undeniable charm and good looks," he wrapped his arms around her, holding her close as she rested her head on his chest.

She laughed, remember her own musing about her Prince Not-So-Charming. "Charm? You are a lot of things, Spike, charming is definitely not one of them." She looked up into his scowl and laughed. "Have I ever mentioned that I find charm way over rated."

He smirked. "So what will do you tonight, pet? Pizza or Chinese? While you were out, I found a few places that deliver and there is plenty of blood in the fridge. Fancy a night in? Normal like?"

She was touched by his effort. He could be so sweet, so thoughtful, her incredibly weird vampire. He was trying to give her normal, but she realized that she did not want that now. Maybe not anymore. She reached up and brushed her lips against his. "Actually, I was thinking we could not. Be normal, I mean. I was thinking we could be more like us." She felt the vibrations of his growl as she deepened the kiss, as he pulled her body closer to his. After all, they could try normal later. Right now, there were rules to break.


	30. Playing in Fire

**New York 2009 **

Buffy held herself fiercely against him, her fingers gripping the soft cotton of his shirt. Her lips were pressed hungrily against his, feeding the desire that threatened to devour her. Now that she had resolved to do this, to throw caution to the preverbal wind, to actually be with him, she did not feel like she could get close enough to him quickly enough. She wanted to be deeper in him, engulfed by him, his body and his love. She needed all of the barriers between them gone. She needed him inside of her.

She let out a little groan of displeasure when she felt his lips pull away from hers. When she felt his hands on her shoulders, softly, cautiously, gently, disentangling her body from his. She did not want to be apart from him. Because when they were separated it gave her brain time to give into all of her insecurities, all of her doubts. It gave her time to think of new things to agonize over and new defenses to protect her from intimacy, vulnerability, love. But when their bodies were this close, there wasn't time to think, to come up with fears or excuses. When they were this close, there were only instincts. It was about doing what felt right, not what she thought was right and safe and good, but what was actually right and good. It might not be safe, being with him like this. She could get hurt, had gotten hurt, but it was right and it was good. This she knew. She felt it with ever fiber of her being. Both the woman and the Slayer in her felt it. This is where she should be, and this is what she should be doing.

Okay, so she had finally gotten over her insecurities. Had quashed all her qualms. They might pop up again, she acknowledged, but she was totally ready, now, to go whack-a-mole on their ass when they did. Being with him had given her the strength for her to get over herself, her fears, her misgivings, her doubts. She could do this, she knew it in her heart, her soul. She had to do this. If her life was ever going to be more than empty, if she was ever going to be more than an unhappy automaton, she had to do this.

So, what the fuck was his problem, now? Didn't he know, didn't he feel, the same things that had become so clear to her? What could possibly be the reason for his hesitation?

After all, this was Spike, wasn't it? Persistent, sexy Spike, who had found her, pursued her, refused to let her fade back into the sorta life she had made for herself. He was always the one to push for intimacy of any kind from her. Except when he thought she really didn't want it. Couldn't handle it. Then he was fine with the "not making a thing out of it" thing. But even that was kinda passive aggressive pushy. Because even then he was only trying to do, trying to be, what he thought she wanted.

And now, didn't he want the same thing she did. To be together. For real. Completely. Wasn't he ready for that to?

Shit. The doubts were starting to pop up again. God, she needed mallet or something blunt and heavy and good for hitting things over the head with.

"Is everything… is everything okay?" she asked. "Did I do something wrong?"

"No, Buffy, love. Everything is peachy. Better than peachy, bloody brilliant it is."

"Then why the rapid uncoupling? Don't you want to…" she couldn't finish the sentence. It was too humiliating. She hadn't swallowed that much of her pride.

"Of course I want to. I want to make love to you until the bloody building falls down and then shag you silly again and again until neither of us can move. God, Buffy, I've wanted this so bad, thought at some points it would damn near kill me with longing. You know what you do to me."

"So, what's the problem then?"

"Its just… its just that I want you to want this as much as I do."

"I do, Spike."

"I hear you say it, Slayer. But I want you to really want it. Not just in a heat of the moment, not just because of hormones and horniness or because it's been a while since you had a decent tumble so you figure you'll take old Spike out for a ride. But more that. From somewhere deeper in you than just between your legs, you know?"

"Spike, I do want you. I want you deep within me. Uh. From deep within me. You know what I mean," she blushed. There were the Freudian slips, right on schedule for maximum embarrassment. "God, I really just said that, didn't I?" He smirked and nodded, "That was almost worse than Xander. My point is, Spike, that I want you with all my heart and all my soul. I don't know how I can prove that to you, but its real this time. I promise."

"Just don't want you to do something you're not ready for. Don't want you to wake up in the morning with the regrets and the insults and the punch to the nose and the possible staking."

"I wouldn't."

He shrugged. "Its happened before, love," he said gently.

"Spike, I… I wouldn't. That was a long time ago." She blushed again. She had been so caught up in her own fears and insecurities that she hadn't considered that he might have some of his own. After all, she had hurt him as badly as he had hurt her. It was natural, she supposed, that he might be wary as well. He was a pretty old vampire, and his survival skills had to be wicked good to have lasted as long as he had. "A long long time ago," she continued. "Things are different now. We're different now.

"I just don't want to lose you again, Buffy. I couldn't bear it. And I don't want to push you too hard and end up pushing you away."

"You are being very unpushy. The unpushiest."

"Still, you made it clear, very clear, that you wanted to take things slow. And while its not exactly in my blood, I tend to be, well you know me, rash and impulsive and bloody stupid, but I'll do the sodding slo-mo bit if that's what you want."

God, had it only been this morning that she had told him she wanted to take sex things slowly. To avoid it. At least for a little while. It seemed like ages ago. "Yeah, I know. But I still had some things to figure out." He raised an eyebrow, "Which I did when I was definitely not paying attention in class."

He grinned, "I think I like those things that school is teaching you," he purred. "Those Jesuit blokes can't be all that bad."

"They are actually surprising open-minded. Even employ evil devil spawn like you. Very progressive." She grinned.

"Apparently."

They gazed at each other for a moment. Fuck, she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Even after the week, the life, she had had to endure, she looked lovely. She had let her hair, which he had always loved, grow out, and it fell to her midback. It was so bright and golden and bounced when she shifted her weight. Her skin was creamy and clear, not as tan as it had been back in California, but still it was practically… effulgent.

And she terrified him. Because she could crumble his heart into dust if he let her. And god damn him, he was ready to. He would be her willing victim, her slave, again and again. He had no power when it came to her. No free will. No self control. What she wanted he would try to give her. Even if it bloody well killed him. Been fucking there, done fucking that, hadn't he?

So, he surrendered. To her desire. To his. His yearning for her was about to overwhelm him, anyway. Might as well enjoy the crush. "Buffy," he moaned, taking her in his arms. Effortlessly finding her mouth with his. Her lips as soft and as eager as he remember, her mouth open and inviting. "Buffy," he murmured again, as his lips trailed from her lips, to her chin to her neck. "God, Buffy, I love you. God, I want you."

She must be the worst Slayer in history, she thought. Here was a vampire nibbling on her jaw. And the tinglies on the back of her neck weren't so much an indication of fear as of arousal. Arousal and fear. Maybe she did need a little bit of danger, a little bit of monster in her man. Except that she had never felt so safe.

And anyway, if she was a bad Slayer, he was a worse vampire. Planting little kisses on the skin that he should have been tearing to pieces. Flicking his tongue against flesh that he should have been sinking his teeth into.

Spike could sense her arousal. Smell it. Feel it in the flush of her skin, the flow of her the pumping through her veins. Being with her was like returning home. Not that he had many home to which he would want to return. But there was a sense of ease and wonder as he opened, unlocked, the doors to her rooms, revealing the familiar secrets that they held. As pulled off her shirt to reveal her small breasts, pert and high and perfect. As he ran his tongue around her pink nipples, savoring the salty sweetness of her skin. As he pulled off her jeans, and buried his head between her pale creamy thighs, tasting her arousal, her essence. Everything seemed at once to be new and familiar. He knew her body, its taste, its feel, so well. Remembered it perfectly. And yet, he had not ever known it like this. Because she had been right, this time it was different. They were different.

Buffy became self-conscious as they removed their clothing. It had been so long since they had been together in any sense of the word. She had aged, and he had not. His biceps were still just as bulgy. His chest and abs still just as chiseled. And the bulge in his jeans, well, that was pretty bulgy too.

But she had aged. When they had last been together she had been so young. Only twenty-two, the last time, only twenty, twenty-one, before that. She was still only a twenty-something, but she was a much much older twenty-something. She hadn't put on weight, which was almost impossible to do; Slayer metabolism and demon slayage was nothing if not a calorie burner, but still. She worried that things weren't as high or as firm as they had been. He had mocked her with that once. When he was evil. Or at least less good. Right after Riley had bailed and she felt like her life was doing a total humpty-dumpty. But she worried. What if he was disappointed that she wasn't the nubile barely-twenty-something-year old he remembered. He was unchanged. She was pretty sure she had sagged.

But then he had pulled off her shirt and unfastened her bra. "God, Buffy, you are so bloody beautiful. So sodding perfect," he had breathed before pushing his mouth against her breast, nipping, and licking, and teasing her nipples and the very sensitive flesh around them.

He remembered just how to touch her. How to make her mew or scream. He remembered all of her most sensitive spots, the places that plunged her into pleasure. He remembered how to crook his finger inside of her. How to make her buck and squirm as he licked between her thighs.

And she remembered how to touch him, too. How running her fingers lightly down his spine made him shiver and how running her tongue along his cock made him moan.

Maybe with both of them it was less about memory and more about nature. They didn't need remember how to pleasure each other. They just knew. There was something deep inside of both of them that would not, could not, forget. Whatever it was, Buffy would have called it instincts. Except that sex between a vampire and a Slayer was a non-instincty thing. So it either went higher than or deeper than instincts. Whether it metaphysical or just plain old physical, she didn't know. And as she cried out in another orgasm, she really didn't care.

She was fire and she was warmth, Spike thought as he thrust into her tight, hot pussy. He felt himself nearly scorched the heat that emanated from her, her skin, her mouth, her snatch. That was the difference between sex with Buffy and sex with Rae, he couldn't help thinking. Sex with Rae was soothing, like floating in a warm river. Engulfed, blissful, and safe. Not without the currents of pleasure and not without rapids passion, but, for the most part, it was peaceful. Refreshing, even. Sex with Buffy was like being bloody burned alive. And he knew a little something about what that felt like. Her passion and his, smoldering, threatening to consume him entirely. A fire ripping through him, burning this desire onto his soul. He felt as if he were being licked by tongues of flames, engulfed by the blaze. His humanity seared into him. His demon feared the fire. Knew what fire could do to him. His humanity, his soul, on the other hand welcomed it. Because to be warm, well, that was to be alive, to be human.

Buffy was the flame of his humanity. The torch that had led him to it. No wonder he was drawn to her. Even his demon desired her, wanted her, needed her, worshipped her just as it feared her, wanted to maker her his. He couldn't help it if he liked to play with fire. Even if it meant he was liable to be bloody burned.

"Buffy," he moaned, his thrusting slow, rhythmic. "Love you, Buffy. So bloody much. My Slayer. My girl. My Buffy" With each thrust he pulled his cock almost entirely out of her, sliding it back in, slowly. It would have been painfully slow if the pleasure hadn't been so great for them both. He wanted to pound into her, to fuck her as hard as he could. He knew she liked that. And she was his equal; she could take what he could give her. He didn't have to worry about breaking or bruising her. He didn't have to hold back his desire, his passion. She was there with him. In strength and in love. He wanted to love her with all the power of his body and his soul. All she had to do was ask.

"Spike," she cried. "Oh, Spike. Spike. Need you. Harder. Deeper. Spike." She was so past the point where she could form actual sentences. Words, actually, were a miracle. He increased his speed and the force, as he plunged into her. She was so wet, slick, oozy, she thought, embarrassed, that he slid in and out of her with ease. No resistance. They were finally together without any walls or barriers. And it felt fucking amazing. "Oh. Spike. Gonna… oooooh." She moaned as she came, which was echoed by his growl as he followed her climax a moment later.


	31. Bad Math

**New York 2009**

Both vampire and Slayer were speechless, neither of their brains quite ready for words or conversation. Not that they really needed to speak. Their bodies had sung to each other so forcefully through their desires that anything they tried to say with words was really just superfluous. They had gotten the message. Crystal clear. No need to translate it into speech. Better to just avoid wordiness all together. Words got in the way. Muddled the meaning. Tried to describe things that could not be described and contain things that could not be contained. They were totally beyond words at this point.

They were both covered in a thin sheen of sweat. Buffy hadn't thought vamps could sweat, it didn't seem logical or physiological or whatever, but she had learned, during her tenure as Slayer, that when they exerted themselves enough, they did. And she and Spike had been pretty exerty the past couple of hours.

He was lying back on the bed, they had gotten to the bed at some point, although Buffy could not remember exactly when, his arms crossed behind his head. His eyes were closed, a half smile was on his lips, and his expression was, well, satisfied. There was a time when she had thought of it as smug. The arrogance of fucking a Slayer. Adding her to the list of Slayers he had conquered. The Slayers he had had in one way or another. She had thought he had been trying to humiliate her, to goad her into self-loathing, to remind her that he had beaten her.

Now she realized that she had been reading him wrong. He wasn't being smug. He was simply satisfied, savoring the moments that he spent with her. The moments in which he, at least, had always acted out of love.

Her motives, of course, for a long time had been different. Destructive. His cruel and mocking words had been a defense against her crueler words and actions. She saw that now.

She had been such a total idiot.

Feeling her eyes on him, he opened his and grinned lazily. "That was, well, that was something."

She smiled in return. "That was something else."

"You're probably right about that one, love." He chuckled, "God, I am such a twit. To think I could have been doing that with you for the past six years and I buggered it up."

"You are kinda a moron," she responded playfully.

"Damn right I am. Daftest bloke to ever die twice and come back twice." He paused. "No, make that the second daftest. No matter how bloody stupid I am, Angel's worse."

"Okay, can we make a deal that we don't talk about exes in bed."

He leered at her, "What's in it for me?" She glared. "What? A deals a deal, love. Have to be willing to give a little to get a little," he purred seductively. She pouted. "Fine, Slayer, exes and sex don't mix."

She grinned. "Yes. Very unmixy. Unless you change the letters around. And then they are almost the same thing just with an extra 'e.' Which is probably weird and not something that we should think about anymore. In fact, lets just forget everything I said the past minute."

"How about we just rewind to the point where we were basking in the afterglow."

"We were a bit basky, weren't we?"

He propped himself on elbow, angling his lean muscular torso towards her. "Summers, I could bask in your fire forever. In fact, I plan to. If you'll let me, that is," he added hastily, his voice soft and husky.

"Spike, I've come to realization that its not really up to me to let you. You and I. Together we're more than either of us apart. Like the sum being greater than its parts, you know. We are bad math. Like one plus one, with us, doesn't equal two. It equals forever or infinity or something bigger and more power than just me or you. And I refuse to fight it, to fight us. Not anymore."

"Never was much one for numbers myself. But it sounds like bloody brilliant math to me."

"Guess you won't be much help with calc homework."

"Probably not." He looked around the room, as though embarrassed, avoiding her gaze, "Mind if I snag a fag, love."

She rolled her eyes, "What? You're afraid of ruining my super swanky apartment." She laughed. "I actually don't think this place could smell any worse."

Spike slid out of bed, and began looking around the room for his pants. God, he even managed to look sexy stooped down and picking through piles of dirty laundry. "Could actually. I've smelt plenty of demons which make this place smell like a fucking flower field."

"Okay, so supernatural smells aside. This place is pretty bad."

He found his pants and pulled out his lighter. Then walked into the main room of her apartment to retrieve his duster and his pack of cigarettes. "We could fix it up, you know," he called from the other room. "If you want. I could help. Make the place livable, at least for you. The undead, well, we're not picky."

"No, that would be nice. We could make fix it up. For us. Make it, like, a home." A home. The first real home she would have since her house, along with the rest of Sunnydale, had been destroyed.

He walked back into the bed room, cigarette lit, grinning. "We could do that, pet."

She had never lived with a boyfriend before. Riley had slept over plenty of times, and she had spent the night at his, but they hadn't lived together. And Spike had lived with her, of course, when they were battling The First. But he had been down on the cot in the basement and he had not been her boyfriend. Was he even her boyfriend now? It was such a stupid sounding label. Because he wasn't a boy and they were definitely more then friends. Besides, how many times had she said full of shame and anger that he definitely was not her boyfriend. The label just didn't seem to fit. Or they didn't fit. Either way it just didn't seem to work.

"What are we?" she asked as he stretched, catlike, before laying back down.

"What's with the ontology, pet?" he asked warily. He bloody hoped that she wasn't going back into psycho-Slayer bitch mode. Because he bloody well couldn't take that. "Not having seconds thoughts, are you love? Not after everything that had just passed between us. And I'm not just talking about the fluids. This is real, Buffy."

"I know that. And ew. And no. No second thoughts. Just thought thoughts. First thoughts. Like how weird it would be referring to you as my boyfriend. You know, because once you celebrate your centennial birthday, I don't think you get to be a 'boy' anymore."

Spike breathed out smoky sigh of relief. Christ did Buffy keep him on his bloody toes. Didn't have a clue what she was thinking half the time. It was funny, Rae didn't have a problem referring to him as her boyfriend. But then again, Buffy was different. What he had with Buffy was different.

"Lets see," he mused, taking a drag on his cigarette and exhaling the smoke throw his nostrils. "'Companion' makes one of sound like a dog. And by one of us I mean me, follow you 'round like a fucking spaniel. 'Significant Other' is a bit stilted. 'Lover' conjures that sodding SNL skit. 'POSSLQ' is just bloody stupid. 'Paramour' is too old fashion for a girl like you, and it brings me back to my Victorian love life, and that's a stumble down memory lane I'd rather not suffer. And 'partner' makes us sound like we belong to the fucking law offices of Summers and Pratt. Bugger that."

"Don't you think you're getting a little hair splitty?"

"Bollocks, Slayer. Words are powerful things. Got to be careful with them. They shape the world, and not just in a mystical mojo kinda way either. No. They change the way you think and that can be bloody dangerous."

"Knew you liked to talk, Spike. Didn't know you were so into the wordage. That why you decided to become Professor the Bloody?"

"Suppose so."

"Why the did you decide to go back to school? I mean, I was forced. I have an excuse. But you never really seemed like the voluntary higher education type. It just seemed so unSpikeish," she saw his expression fall and, realizing how insulting her words might sound, she started a furious and immediate back peddle. "I don't mean that you're not smart. You are. You know a lot more about demons and stuff than I do. Sometimes I think you know more about demons than Giles does. But it's a different kinda knowledge. Like its not booky its lifey. Not that I think you don't read. I've seen you reading and books and stuff in your crypt. I mean you're not illiterate or anything. You just seem like the type who would rather live it than read about it. You know. And you do kinda have the whole too cool for school punk thing working for you. And a PhD doesn't really go with your hair." She paused and grinned sheepishly. "And I'm really not doing much to extract this foot, huh? I think I'm just going to stop now."

For an answer he leaned over and kissed her forehead. "For a Slayer you can be bloody adorable, you know that Buffy."

"Hey. You are so not allowed to call the Vampire Slayer adorable. Its against the rules." 

"Thought you weren't one for rules, love."

"I'm fine with rules as long as they support whatever I agree with."

He raised an eyebrow. "And then ones that don't?"

"They don't apply to me," she joked.

"Right on, Summers. Fuck 'em."

She sighed, remembering her conversation with Dawn, and mumbled, "I generally do."

His grin informed her that she had once again underestimated the embarrassment potential of super vampire hearing.

"You never answered my question," she accused him, trying to change the subject by reproaching him for doing the same. "How did you wind up here teaching and everything?"

"Don't know, really," he grumbled. "Needed something, I suppose. Couldn't bear to hang around with Peaches any longer," he smirked, "sorry love, not breaking your rules, just trying to tell the sodding story is all. More importantly, though, I didn't have you. For so long you were the one thing that gave my life some meaning. Loving you, fighting with you, trying to be good and good enough for you. Without you I had nothing to live for, no purpose. One of those pesky side effects of being all soul-having. I was still in the fight, in it, yeah, fighting scrapping, taking out any demon stupid enough to get himself notice, but not feeding my soul. So I turned to poetry, to books, you know. When I was a man I loved that kinda stuff. Was a bloody awful poet, but at least it gave my pathetic life some meaning. A little love, a little beauty, you know."

"I'm starting to see the softer side of Spike."

"Very funny, Slayer," he growled, taking another drag from his cigarette. "Listen, I know that you and the Scoobies never pegged me as much of a thinker. And I never gave you much of a reason to. I was never one for grand plans or elaborate schemes or thinking things through. I was all about blood and instincts. The demon in me was, anyway. But the man I was, he was different. And my soul needed that. Needed to believe that there was something bigger than him out there that was worth fighting for. For a long time it was you. When I lost you I turned to something more abstract, less painful. Besides, I always loved books. Always kept a few in my crypt, nicked some from Giles when I needed them. Don't think he ever noticed."

"I didn't know Giles had non-researchy books."

"Course he does. Man's got a soul, after all."

Buffy blushed. Sometimes she still thought about Giles the way a sixteen year old would. Like he was just a stuffy librarian, a somewhat less but still kinda clueless adult, her patriarch, and not a real person with feelings and desires and passions. It was embarrassing to be reminded by Spike, of all people, that Giles' blood ran just as deep as hers.

He reached out and ran his fingers through a strand of her hair, tucking it behind her ear. "I don't know how I'm going to be able to teach that bloody class tomorrow. With you sitting there. All I'll be able to concentrate on is how many different ways I want to fuck you across my desk. The sodding naughty school girl cliché is going to be too bloody much for me."

Buffy's color deepened. "About that."

He tilts his head to the side, narrowing his eyes, trying to figure her out. "Yeah, love."

She swallowed. "I won't exactly be in your class tomorrow."

"Listen, pet, you can't just cut class because you're shagging the prof. Wouldn't be right, you know," he teased.

"Its not that. Its just that I'm kinda not in your class anymore. I kinda talked to Professor Tallis and I kinda switched out. I' m sorry. I just didn't think I could be there," she continued nervously. "Not with you. Not like that. So I ran."

"Not a big deal, love. Just so long as we can play student and prof. at home," he growled playfully.

"Wish I had stayed in that class. Would have been an easy A and I could really use one of those."

"I would have made you work for it."

"Not in a schooly way. Your kinda work I can handle."

"That you can love. You handle me perfectly," he purred. Flipping her over and pinning her to the bed, kissing her deeply.

And they danced in the fire again.

**AN: Thanks again to everyone who has taken the time to review, has subscribed for story alert, has added the story to their favorites, has been following the story in any way, etc. I really appreciate all of the positive feedback. I hope that you have been enjoying the journey this story has taken us on as much as I have. Unfortunately, with summer coming to an end, my graduate program will be starting up again, which means that the time I have available to work on this story will be reduced pretty drastically. For this reason, starting this week, I will only be able to update once a week (probably on Mondays). I hope you all continue to follow the story. I have quite a few more twists and turns planned for this trip. Thanks again. **


	32. Down to Earth

**Hello everyone. Sorry about the delay in posting. You can blame Irene. I have been without electric and internet since early Sunday morning. Luckily it has all been restored, which is good because I am totally 21****st**** century girl, and do not do well with no lights, hot water, and email. **

**That said, I hope you enjoy this especially dorky chapter, brought to you by the first week of school. I nerded out just a little. Hope you enjoy, if not, I promise there won't be too many chapters where I get my English geek on. **

**New York 2009**

Buffy had really not wanted to go to school on Thursday. She was sensing this was going to be a trend. She hadn't exactly been excited about school to begin with, and now that she had a way too sexy vampire in her apartment, her bed, any little bit of motivation to go to classes was totally MIA. It was really only duty, her obligations to Giles and the girls and the school, that kept her going back to campus at all.

The problem was that Giles and the girls and the school were all so far away. And Spike was so close. The closest he had ever been, really. The closest she had ever let him be.

She had woken up with the same fuzzy, cozy feeling she had felt the pervious morning. Except better. Much better. She felt more peaceful and more well rested than she could ever remember feeling. She was lying on her side, and his body was wrapped around hers. Spooning her. They were both still naked, neither having the energy to get dressed after the fury of the previous night's love making. His arm was thrown over her protectively, holding her close to him. She felt so safe and so warm and so loved. She could totally get used to this.

She ran her finger along his arm, tracing the muscles of his bicep. "Morning, love," he said drowsily, his voice still thick with sleep.

As she turned to face him, he opened his eyes slowly, groggily. His hair was a mess of platinum curls. She grinned, he looked totally adorable, although she would never say that to him. He yawned, as he eyed her sleepily. "Sorry, pet, feeling a bit knackered from last night. And this morning. Besides, not really much of a morning person." 

"Creature of the night thing?" she asked.

"Pretty much. Evil doesn't get up for the day shift."

She looked down at his erection, "You really don't seem to have much trouble getting up at all."

"Well, I'm not evil. Not any more anyway. Still, not much of an early riser. Well, except for him," he gestured toward his cock. "But he's got a mind of his bloody own," he grinned, "and he can't tell time worth a damn." His expression became serious. "How are you this morning?" She hadn't insulted him or punched him in the nose, so that was a good sign. Still, she could be so fucking volatile, so bloody moody. He had been afraid that when he opened his eyes she would be gone, scrambling to get dressed and get lost, or worse, hating herself and hating him for what they had done the night before.

"A little sweaty, smelly, and sticky, but good" she answered, and then she blushed. She could still feel his seed and her juices inside of her. Smeared across her thighs. It was comforting in a very icky kind of way, because it was them, theirs, the result of their love making, their love. Still, it was pretty gross, and she definitely wished he hadn't mentioned it. "Really good," she continued. "Better than I've been in a long time."

"No regrets, then, love?"

"None. Except that eventually I have to get up and go to school."

"Not for a while though?" he purred, curling his tongue behind his teeth.

"We've got time," she grinned. Because they did. Because this time there was no epic battle or apocalypse weighing down on them. Because they had all the time in the world, and the world wasn't scheduled to end any time soon.

So, she really hadn't wanted to get up out of her bed, the bed they had made theirs, and go to class. But she had had to. And he would have to teach his class tonight, and they would have to start building a life together. Not just sex. But a real relationship. Because that's what they had, could have, now. And that's what she wanted with him. It didn't have to be a normal relationship, but it had to be theirs.

Her new English teacher entered the classroom. She was an attractive woman. In her late fifties or early sixties. Very well dressed in a fitted tailored blouse, flowing skirt and a pair of boots Buffy would have killed for. She had parenthetical laugh lines around her mouth and deep crow's feet at the corners of her twinkling brown eyes. Her hair was styled in a very becoming pixie cut, completely silver, and she had made, apparently, no effort to dye it. Buffy finally understood why Spike had reacted the way that he had when she told him that Prof. Murphy would now be teaching her English. "Murphy, bloody silver fox she is. You'll like her," he had chuckled. She hadn't known at the time what exactly a silver fox was, but now she got it. She hoped she looked as good when she was the professor's age.

If she ever made it to the professor's age. She was already ten years past her expiration date. True, things were different now. She no longer had to do her job alone. But it was still dangerous, still deadly.

"Welcome back, everyone," Prof. Murphy said warmly. "And just plain welcome to those of you joining us for the first time. I see a number of new faces, so I am going to begin by taking attendance. Then we will review the course outline for our class this semester, and then we'll begin in earnest. We have a lot to get through this semester. I trust that everyone did their homework," there were some scattered nods. "Good, especially since I let you out early last week. You're blackboard postings were very interesting. We ought to have a very fruitful discussion today."

No fair, Buffy thought. Spike hadn't let them out early and that class had been torture. Not because of content, she didn't even really remember what he had talked about and her notes were a complete disaster, but because of the agony of being so close to him and trying to be in control of everything she felt. To not show the smallest crack in her defenses, the slightest vulnerability. She could not believe that that class had only been a week ago. It literally felt like ages.

"Okay," Professor Murphy said after going through the roll, "Who needs a syllabus?" Buffy and a couple of other students scattered throughout the room raised their hands. "Now I'm not going to go over this in depth," Prof. Murphy said as she moved through the classroom, handing out the syllabi, "because we did that last week. But, just to give you an idea of what to expect, the year will be broken down into three genres. We will begin with poetry, and we will spend all of September on poetry from a variety of historical eras. In October we move into drama, one play from the Renaissance, one from the 20th century. Then we will spend November and December with two novels, one from the 19th century, one from the 20th. Each week I require that you write a brief reflection and post it on blackboard. The post can be about any topic related to the work. If I feel our class discussions lagging, I may turn to these posts to spark discussion. The exact works we are reading are listing in the syllabus. All of the poetry is on blackboard, which

will save everyone a little money, I know how hard it is to be a broke student, but you will have to buy the novels and the plays. At the end of each unit, you will be expected to complete a five page paper. I will suggest some possible topics, but you are also free to come up with your own. Any questions?" No one raised their hand. "Okay, well if any questions come up, feel free to email me, or stop by my office during my hours, my office hours and email are provided at the top of the syllabus."

She looked around the classroom. "Alright, well I'm getting tired of the sound of my voice, but I do want to provide you with some background on the poems you read for class today. By the way, did everyone bring a copy of them to class, anyone who didn't please raise your hand." A number of students, including Buffy did. "I brought extra copies today, but in the future please bring a copy of any literature we are reading to class. We will be doing some close readings, so it is important to have the text in front of you.

"Okay, so these poems are part of sonnet sequence composed by Sir Philip Sidney," she wrote the name on the board. "He was a contemporary of William Shakespeare, although the he produced much of his work in the 1580s, right before Shakespeare's most fruitful period. The name of the sequence is _Astrophel and Stella_," she wrote that on the board as well. "Does anyone know what that means?"

One girl raised her hand, "'Stella' means star right?"

"Yes it does," she wrote star beneath Stella. "And Astrophel?" The class was silent and still. "Okay, break the word down," she drew a dash through the word. "Astro. Where have we seen this before? How about asteroid? So we know it has something to do with space, right? Here Astro is best translated as star" she wrote star beneath Astro. "Okay, and 'phel' which comes from the latin 'phil,' often used in the form of 'phile' or 'philia.' Anyone have any guesses."

"Doesn't that mean love?" one of the students called out.

"Precisely. So Astrophel means star lover. Does anyone have any idea what this might tell us about the work?"

No one responded.

"Okay. So we have Stella, the star," she drew a star on the blackboard, "and Astrophel, the star lover," she added a stick-figure man to her chalk illustration, directly under the star. "What are their relative positions?"

"She's above him," one of the boys in the class offered.

"Exactly. She is a star. Celestial. A heavenly body. He is just a man. Totally unworthy of her and completely out of her league. Of course, this isn't just because she is better looking or more popular than he is, in Sidney's time the beloved's position of superiority had serious social and political implications. It is also working within a literary tradition known as courtly love, or, more correctly, fin'amore." She wrote courtly love and fin'amore on the board. "Does any one here know anything about courtly love?" A couple of student's shook their heads. "You probably do, actually, although probably not by that name. Courtly love is the unrequited love between nobles, most often a knight and his lady. Think of fairy tales where the knight has to go on quests to prove himself worthy of a lady's love. It is said to have originated during the middle ages. Traditionally the beloved is idolized, much like Stella who, according to Astrophel is the end all and be all of beauty and virtue, and the lover is supplicant and often suffering immensely, like Astrophel.

"One of the contradictions of courtly love is that it is based on sexual attraction, but is often platonic. Meaning, that ideal love is transcendent and spiritual and not bodily. We saw Astrophel's struggle with this ideal in some of the sonnets you read for homework. Anyone remember which ones?"

"71 and 72," the girl sitting in front of Buffy answered.

"Exactly. Astrophel must contend with his sexual desire, which he believes to be in direct contradiction with his virtues and his ideals. Would someone volunteer to read sonnet 71 aloud?" No one moved. "No? Okay, then we will go around the room. Each student reads a line." She gestured to a girl in the second row. Would you mind beginning?" The girl shook her head. "Whenever you're ready, then."

The class read aloud:

_Who will in fairest book of Nature know_

_ How Virtue may best lodged in beauty be,_

_ Let him but learn of Love to read in thee_

_Stella, those fair lines, which true goodness show._

_There shall he find all vices' overthrow,_

_ Not rude by force, but sweetest sovereignty_

_ Of reason, from whose light those night-birds fly,_

_That inward sun in thine eyes shineth so._

_ And, not content to be perfection's heir_

_Thyself, doest strive all minds that way to move:_

_Who mark in thee what is in thee most fair. _

_So while thy beauty draws the heart to love,_

_ As fast thy Virtue bends that love to good:_

_ "But ah," Desire still cries, "give me some food."_

"Very good. So, now, what does this tell us about the ideals of platonic love and the speaker's beliefs about these ideals?"

The rest of the class was spent discussing the poems Prof. Murphy had selected. They talked about courtly love and power and debated feminist and new historical readings of the sequence. Buffy had been reluctant at first, but had eventually joined in the class discussion. Prof. Murphy made it so easy to contribute. Buffy had actually really enjoyed the class. Which was really good news, right. At least there was one class she could actually stand. Maybe the whole school thing wouldn't be so bad after all.

She had always loved literature classes in high school and then again in college. She hadn't always had time for them, but still she had liked them. Because no matter how supernaturally insane her life was, she could always find books that related. Because she was human, and that was what literature was all about, right? Humanness. That's why Spike had picked it. Because he wanted to be more human.

She couldn't help but think of him. He was her Astrophel, wasn't he? Her courtly lover. How long had he supplicated, submitted to her sovereignty, to try and earn her favor? Hadn't he always seen her as above him, his guiding light, his star, his sun, leading him to virtue, goodness, humanity? Hadn't he gone on his quest, a quest to vanquish his demons and win his soul, to prove his love, his worth? He had never really believed he had a real shot with her. Even in the end he hadn't believed that she loved him. Yet, he continued to offer himself to her. It wasn't poetry he offered. Thank god. She couldn't imagine Spike as a poet, even if that was what he had been when he was still a man, still a human. It wasn't him now, at least not that she could tell. Although it might be there somewhere, hidden in the dusty corners of his soul.

So, it hadn't been words that he had offered to her as proof of his love, but there had been other things. Poetry in other forms. Other sacrifices. Other ways that he had proved his love for her with fists and fangs and bruises and fire and suffering and souls. It was his kind of poetry. Brutal, beautiful, and deadly.

He had done it all for her. To prove his love, to prove his worth.

And now she refused to be out of reach any more. She would not be like Stella, a cold and distant star. Unattainable. She would not remain an aloof ideal. No, she stay firmly on ground. Close to him. He might be able to see her flaws, but at least she would be near to him. Their relationship on equal footing. No longer the Star and the Star Lover, but just two lovers, standing side by side against whatever the world and all the evil in it might throw at them.

She would repay him for the sacrifices he had made. He had lived so long on the crumbs of love she had thrown his way, but now she would give him and desire some food. Now they had time to devour one another, savor each other. He had fasted for too long already. They both had. Now it was time to feast.


	33. Thank You For Everything

**I am so sorry for the delay in posting. My husband had to have his appendix removed this week. He is okay, still in recovery and in a lot of pain, but at least the operation was successful, and he is going to be okay (by the way, I think I hate hospitals almost as much as Buffy does). I have been spending all of my time either at the hospital or in class, which means little time for sleep and, unfortunately, no time for this story. Today I actually had a little time to myself before visiting hours, so I was able to get this done. Yay! Thank you so much to everyone who has been following this story, and thanks for all of your lovely reviews. They make my day. Hope you enjoy!**

**New York 2009**

Buffy was disappointed when she entered her apartment. Spike wasn't there. Of course, she had known he wouldn't be. He had to teach his class tonight. But still, it was a disappointment. It was so strange to think that he had only been there two days. It felt like so much longer than that. And now that he wasn't here, the apartment felt lonelier than ever. He would be home in a couple of hours, she knew. She trusted that he wouldn't leave. Which was a major step for her. And she could use a few hours to herself to get some homework done. Because there was no way that was going to happen with him hanging around. She pulled out her math homework. He was distraction incarnate. Amazing super sexy irresistible distraction. And there was no way she was ever going to be able to focus on calculus with his smoldering gaze on her. She was having a hard enough time focusing without him here. Just thinking about him, about what he would do to her was enough to make her wet. Which did not help with homework. With him here, it would be impossible. Because if he were here he would smell it. Smell her and the effect he was having on her, which, ew, but still. There was no way he would leave her to her studies.

She spent about an hour working on her math homework. She so was not getting this. She needed help. She needed Willow. Willow had always helped her with academicy things when she had needed it. Which had been kinda really often. Willow had helped her get through high school and do pretty well in the classes she had managed to take in college. Sure, Buffy had saved Willow's life more times than she could count or care to remember, but in the end, Willow had been the real life saver. Demons and vampires, no biggy. But history, math, and French exams, now that was perilous.

Last Buffy had heard, Willow was still in South America. Still with Kennedy. Buffy hadn't been sure that Willow and the other Slayer would last. At first it had seemed pretty reboundy. But, there was something about them that worked. Buffy had always felt that Tara's goodness had gently grounded Willow, kept her from become too powerful, too dark. In losing Tara, she had lost that grounding, and none of them liked to think about what had happened after that. But now she had found it again, and she was held firm by Kennedy's love. Her fierce love. It wasn't a match Buffy would have selected for her friend. But it seemed to be working for them. And she wasn't much one to talk. No one would have picked Spike for her. Not even after everything he had done for them.

Buffy dialed Willow's number. It rang a few times, before Willow answered, out of breath.

"Buffy! Its you."

"The one and only. Brought to you today by the letter V and the number two."

"You called."

"Yeah, that's what these newfangled telephones are for. One of Mr. Bell's neat ideas," Buffy joked.

"No. I… I just didn't expect to hear from you is all," Willow fumbled.

"I know. I haven't exactly been communication girl lately. Sorry, Wills."

"No. Buffy its fine. Its been, uhh, tough for you. You've had to make a lot of adjustments. You know having the other girls around and everything."

And everything. Which meant in Willow-speak 'And Spike.' Willow, like all of Buffy's friends hadn't liked Spike. No surprise there. He had threatened to put a broken bottle through her skull. And had come really close to killing her, would have killed her if not for the chip. Not to much there to increase warm fuzzy friendly feelings for the vampire. She had come to accept him as part of the group, part of Buffy's army, part of her life, but she hadn't ever really liked him.

So when Spike had died, she hadn't said anything to Buffy about it. She didn't know what to say, so she had chosen not to silence. The past six years, the friends had avoided the issue, referring to him and his sacrifice only in euphemism and code.

"But you sound better," Willow continued. "You sound like you are beaming."

"I'm not beaming," Buffy laughed.

"No. You are. You're totally beamy Buffy. You can't lie to me. Is it a boy? It has to be a boy. You sound like you're happy about a boy. It's the way you laugh. Its all, well, beamy."

"I guess I do. I mean, I guess it is. About a boy, I mean."

"Really?" Willow giggled, and Buffy felt like they were back in high school. "Tell me all about him."

"Well, he's kinda like Spike."

"What do you mean? Like bad hair and leather bad boy like Spike. Or vampire like Spike."

"Kinda both. I mean. It kinda is Spike."

There was a full thirty seconds of silence.

"Spike?" Willow asked, her voice small.

"Yeah," Buffy replied. "Spike."

"But I thought. I mean I knew he came back. Giles told me. You know because you were so… and… But I didn't know. Well, of course, I didn't know. But I mean, like, I didn't think that you'd. And then he never showed up. And I just didn't think. I mean, its been so long. You know? I guess I kinda like thought that you had gotten Spike out of your system, you know?" Willow rambled. Too nervous to complete a thought.

"Wills," Buffy cut her off, her tone gentle, but firm. She repressed the desire to tell her friend exactly how much Spike was currently in her system. Willow was in no way ready for that much information.

"Yeah?"

"I love him." It was the easiest way to explain. Those three simple words. She hoped that Willow would understand. They had had so many heart-to-hearts, so many conversations about life and love and heartbreak and depression. Willow had always been one person she could turn to, could talk to. It was only when she had cut herself from the world, isolated herself from everyone, had she cut herself off from her best friend. Now, she hoped that her friend would not only hear the words, but the feelings behind them. That Willow's fears and prejudices would not conceal from her the truth of those words. That she would really hear her and that she would understand.

"I know you do, Buffy. And," she paused, mustering her strength. "I'm happy. Because he makes you happy. That much is pretty obvious. And I'm happy that you're happy. Happy Buffy is a good thing. Which means that this is a good thing. Right?"

"Wills," Buffy interrupted her friend again.

"Yeah?"

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"For everything. Now what do you know about derivatives?"

**New York 2009 **

Spike stalked across campus. He did not want to teach his sodding class tonight. Not with Buffy so warm and eager. Gave him a bloody cockstand just thinking about her. The past twenty-four hours had been amazing. A dream come true. A fucking wet dream. His Slayer, his Buffy, so open to him. Letting him in. All the way. He felt drenched in her. Intoxicated by her scent, drunk off her juices.

Not at all the kinda thing that makes a man feel very scholarly. Certainly didn't much feel like discussing _The Time Machine_ with a bunch of first years.

Now that he had Buffy, he could give all this up, he supposed. Except that part of him didn't want to. Part of him loved the literature too much. The books. Even the teaching. It wasn't a part of him that he showed to world. But it was there all the same. He had shown part of it to Buffy last night, but he suspected she had seen it in him long before that. Not necessarily the book thing, but she had seen into his soul, had believed in his humanity, even before he really had.

No wonder he bloody loved that woman.

God, he still could not believe that she had given him another chance.

He spent most of the class trying not to think about all the things he would do to Buffy when he got home. All the ways he would show her that he loved her. It was all he could do to keep his cock out of the upright and locked position.

The kids were into the book, which was a good sign. It seemed like most of them had read it, but he gave them a pop quiz just to be sure. Keep the lot of them on their toes. Students tended to like him, but he was not an easy instructor. No fucking push over. They would have been better off taking the intro classes offered by some of the senior faculty. Old fogies waiting for their retirement and their pensions, milking the University for what they could. Greedy bastards. There classes were easy, but dull as fuck. Their hearts were no longer in the bloody game. Spike could be a hardass, he knew it, but at least he kept things interesting.

He liked the book too. Remembered when it had first been published. He had been a demon then. A Morlock. Damned to darkness. Ostracized from the privileged world of light. He remembered laughing at the Eloi. Stupid, complacent sons of bitches. Cattle cheerfully waiting for the slaughter. Afraid of the dark, but only vaguely aware of the monsters that make the dark something to be feared. How he would have dined on them.

"Right. So, what is the social message good old H.G. is getting at?" he asked the class. He didn't have to do much to keep the discussion moving. Most of them were fairly bright, and the few idiots in the class didn't do much to impair the conversation. There were a few stupid remarks, but a glower from him was enough to make the daftest frat boy shut up. Darwin might be sorely disappointed by the state of humanity, but even the stupidest berk had bloody instincts buried somewhere in their thick skulls.

After class, he stopped by his office, realizing, suddenly, that he had been avoiding it. Rae wouldn't be there. He was pretty certain she would have cleared out before dark. He didn't blame her. He wasn't too keen on running into her either. Which is why he hadn't stopped by his office before class. Wanted to give her a few extra hours if she needed them. Buying himself some time too.

He opened the door. The room smelt of her, completely saturated by her scent. Floral and sweet and something like fresh water. Like peaches and honeysuckles and the earth after a summer storm. Thank god he didn't really need to breathe. It was a habit, sure, but not a necessity.

She had been here today. Maybe a few hours ago. It was odd to think of her in this room. He wondered how she had spent her day. Probably had thrown herself into her work. She had always worked too hard. Been a bloody perfectionist. Every paper perfectly researched, perfectly drafted, and done way before the end of the semester. She was brilliant and organized and ambitious, and her work reflected it. He was slightly less brilliant and not at all organized and hardly ambitious. His work had reflected that as well.

But he had always been the one to get her to relax. She was constantly invited to parties by her classmates, but he was the one who got her to go. He was the one who had gotten her to put down her book and crack open a beer, upcork some wine, or light up a joint.

He wondered how she was doing without him.

She would be fine, of course, he thought, partially because he hoped it to be true. Partially because it made him feel better about himself. It was easier to believe she was fine, because that meant that he didn't have to feel guilty.

Which he did feel.

It was then that he noticed the two duffle bags and the box in the corner of the office.

He knew what was in them without looking. One of the bags held his clothes: some black tees, a couple of button ups, few pair of trousers. Had never been one for threads. Kinda had a look and went with it. It was consistent if not exactly fashionable.

The other bag had his weapons. Couple of axes. A few swords. Knives. A crossbow or two. And a dozen or so stakes. Must weigh a ton, he imagined her struggling under the weight of it all.

Those two duffle bags had been all he had brought with him when he moved into her place. Always traveled light, he did. Never developed much of an attachment for things. Things weighed you down, made you weak, soft. So when he had subletted his apartment he had left it furnished. Sold his stuff to the pouncy medievalist who rented the place. Little twit had fancied that all that stuff made him appear dark and mysterious. Actually, it had just made him look thick as shit in the neck of a bottle, but Spike was happy for the dosh.

In the box were a few things Rae had given him. The Wii she had purchased when she found out how much he loved video games. The electric blanket she had given him one Christmas as a joke. Artificial body heat for winter nights. Next to the box was the guitar she had bought him and taught him to play. There were some candle sticks and some books in the box too. An insulated bag with an ice pack and two gallons of blood. And a note.

Spike didn't want to read it. But he owed her at least that much.

_S—_

_Some things you left behind. If I find anything else I will bring them here. _

_Hope you find your missing peace. _

_With love and best wishes, _

_R—_

She was too fucking clever. Using her intellect as a bloody shield and dagger. Punning on piece like that. This was no bloody time for puns. But it worked, and it fucking stung. Cut right to the bloody quick of things didn't it. And it made him feel a hell of a lot guiltier. He wondered when she had brought these things here. It was a lot of stuff. More stuff than she could carry in one trip. Unless she had help. Which he didn't want to think about, because it certainly wasn't his place to be jealous. Anyway, he hadn't been gone long. But she had known. As soon as she had guessed Buffy's name she had known. When she had kicked him out of her bed, out of her home, she had known that he wouldn't be coming back. Which had probably made it all the more difficult for her.

She was a good girl. And she deserved a lot better than what he had done to her. He wanted to write her a letter. He wanted to pour his sodding soul out to her. Let her know why he had done the things he had. How bloody guilty he felt about it. But even that would have been selfish. Would have made her feel sorry for him and would have made him feel better about himself.

So instead he wrote only two words to her on a piece of notebook paper ripped out and left on the desk. She would be in tomorrow, and she would find it there. He was about to leave, a duffle bag hoisted onto each shoulder when he put down the box and scribbled two more words before shutting off the lights and locking the office door behind him.

He had left her the most honest note he could.

_Thank you. For everything._


	34. Goldilocks

**New York 2009 **

"What's with all the stuff?" Buffy asked as Spike walked into the apartment, laden with the things Rae had left for him in their office.

"Just some things," he answered vaguely.

"Used my great powers of deduction to figure that out. Elementary, my dead Watson. Where'd the thingies come from?"

So, she wasn't going to let it alone, was she? Couldn't just let it bloody be. She was going to make him say it, and then she wasn't going to get all brassed off. She was going to play through this scene without offering him an early exit. Just her style, too.

He took a deep unnecessary breath, puffing out his cheeks before exhaling loudly, dramatically. "They came from Rae. Just some stuff I left at her place. Togs, weapons, bit of nosh. Didn't have much time to pack, with her kicking me out at all," he drawled.

"You saw her?" Buffy asked sharply, fiercely, ready for a fight. Exactly the way he had expected her to sound. She could be so bloody ridiculous. Such a sodding silly bint.

"Not a glimpse of her, love. She left the stuff in our office. Found it when I stopped by after class."

"You share an office with her?" She knew that, of course. But if she let him know, then she might also have to let him know about the time that she had stopped by the office, spying on his girlfriend. Well, girlfriend at the time. Now she was "ex-girlfriend," a thought that made Buffy feel a little better.

Still she could feel all of that jealousy and insecurity and inferiority welling up in her. She pushed it down. He was here with her. Because he wanted to be. He had come back to her. It might have taken him a fucking long time, but he had come. And that was all that mattered now.

She didn't like the idea that he shared an office with her. That there was a space that was still theirs. A space where they belonged and she didn't.

"Yeah, love. We were assigned to the same office at the beginning of the school year. Before I even knew you were in this sodding city."

"Can you do anything about it?" She tried to keep her tone neutral. Like she was merely curious. Because she didn't like the room number, or the lighting, or the view outside the window. More like she didn't like the view behind the desk. But she didn't want him to see that. Didn't know how jealous she was. Didn't want to turn into psycho-demanding-girl. He had to deal with enough relationship shit from her. She didn't want to keep loading it on the pile.

He understood her concern, her fear. But there wasn't much he could do about it. She was going to have to trust him. It was asking a lot, he knew. Buffy wasn't big on the trust. She had no reason to be, the way the bloody wankers she had been with had fucked with her. Leaving her as soon as things got tough. Finding comfort in the fangs of another woman or in incessant self-indulgent brooding. Pillocks. And he should probably put himself on the wanker list too. He had done things far worse to her. But he had never left. At least not permanently. Always came back. Eventually.

"Fraid not, love," he answered softly, gently. "Too much paperwork and bloody bureaucracy involved in the whole damn system. And besides, it doesn't mean anything. It's just an office. Its bollocks, really. She'll use it during the day; at night, its mine. That's all. What we have, here, this is… well its just different."

"It's a home," Buffy offered. "I understand what you're saying, Spike. I really do. But its just… well, its like the office, with her, its like it's a reminder of this other part of your life. A part of your life that I wasn't there for. A time when I wasn't with you. But she was. She was that part of your life. And its hard to be reminded of that."

He moved toward her, wrapping her in his arms, kissing the top of her head. "I know, love. I know. Regret it too, I do. And I sure as bloody hell don't like to be reminded it. All that time together that we missed because I was too sodding stupid to see you. But its done. We're here now. Together. Finally. This is real, Buffy. And its here, and its now, and its us. And I won't let our history ruin this for us. Can't change the past, but you better be bloody sure I'm not going to let it fuck up our future. I couldn't bloody stand it."

Buffy sighed, nuzzling deeper against his chest. "You're right. As much as I hate to admit it, and I do, you're right."

"Ta, love," he smirked. "You know, I didn't think I would still get such satisfaction hearing you admit you're wrong. But I have to it's bloody as sweet as ever."

"Keep it up, Spike, and that will be the only satisfaction you get tonight."

"If I keep it up, love, the satisfaction will be fucking mutual, yeah."

She looked up at him and grinned. She couldn't help but enjoy their snarking. Because it was so familiar, and kinda comforting. Because that was how they had spent most of their relationship. It was them and it was real.

She laid her head against his chest, where his heart should have been beating. With Angel she had always found the silence disconcerting. With Spike it was just normal. Because that was who he was. And this was who she was. And, he was right, although she wouldn't admit it now, maybe at some point in the future when he was being a little less gloaty she would, this was real.

"We have to go evil kill things," she murmured, tilting her head to look up into his face.

"And you were afraid we wouldn't ever do anything normal or romantic," he grinned.

"Not exactly meeting up for drinks, but it will have to do."

"It will do better than that, love. Rather have a spot of violence than a shot of whiskey any night," he paused. "No, I take that back. Any way we could do both, love?"

"Well, there is no way I am taking a sloshed Spike out on patrol with me. I've seen you drunk, and its not pretty."

He batted his long eyelashes at her playfully. She sighed, a smile cracking her serious façade. "Okay, fine. It might be pretty, but not the best back up in a fight."

"Unlike you and your brilliant coordination when completely bladdered."

"That was one time."

"No need to get shirty, Slayer."

"I'm not shirty. And, by the way, I know what that means now. I googled it."

"Right, you use google as a verb, and I'm the one making up words. Bleeding Americans."

She untangled herself from his embrace. "Well, as much as I would like to stay here all night singing 'God Save the Queen.' We really have to patrol."

"Right. Evil waits for no Slayer and all that. Got it, love."

She grabbed a stake and a dagger. He wanted to take an axe with him, something with a bit of show and swagger, but Buffy suggested that something a bit more inconspicuous might be better suited for a routine patrol.

It wasn't long before Spike scented fear.

"Close?" Buffy asked.

"Hard to tell. It's bloody pungent," he inhaled deeply. "Yeah. Its close."

"Can you take me to it?"

"What do I look like, woman, a bleeding blood hound? Leading the way to Timmy down the sodding well."

She looked at him, annoyed. Why did he always have to make such a stupid stink about everything? Stupid vampire with his stupid vampire vanity. Then they heard a scream. "Guess, I don't need that nose after all, Lassie," she grinned before running in the direction of the scream, Spike running close behind her.

The woman was in an ally, her back pressed against a wall, three vamps blocking the only possible exit. When would these people learn that dark ally equals bad idea, Buffy thought, I mean, hello, common sense much.

Then Buffy saw the baby the woman was holding tightly to her breast.

"So nice of you to bring us desert," one of the vampires snarled.

"I want to eat it as an appetizer," a different one snapped.

"Oh, you don't want to do that. It will spoil your appetite," Buffy quipped. "You vampires, your eyes are always way too big for your stomachs." The three vamps spun around, surprised by the sound of her voice.

"A Slayer," the third vampire hissed. "And what the hell are you," he said looking at Spike, "Not human," he scoffed. "Pathetic Slayer lapdog. What's she got a leash around your balls."

"Not a Slayer, Buffy _the_ Vampire Slayer. And be careful of Rin Tin Tin. He bites," Buffy answered

"Alright. That's it. I've bloody had it with the bloody canine references. I'll rip your head off you fucking fledge. Teach you what it means to be a real vamp, you pathetic twit." Spike roared, and Buffy could hear the cartilage in his face crunch as he shifted into vamp face.

"See I told you he bites."

The leader of the three vampires attacked Buffy, the other two ran at Spike.

"Are you Larry or Moe?" Buffy asked, her fist connecting with his face. "I can never tell you two apart."

"Bitch," the vampire growled. "You have no idea who you are dealing with. I'm William the Bloody, Slayer of Slayers. And I will have you."

Buffy rolled her eyes. "That's William the Bloody, you idiot," she said, gesturing toward Spike before parrying the vampire's punch. "You're just a moron," seeing her opening she slid her stake into the vamp's heart, "and dead," she said, as the vampire turned to dust. "Or deader," she corrected herself.

"What an asshole," she exclaimed. "Spike can you fucking believe…" She turned to Spike, who had one of the vamps by the throat, but the other was approaching with a piece of broken wood. "Spike," she screamed, as she rushed towards the vampire, tackling him before he could take another step.

She landed on top of him, straddling him. Not a position she really wanted to be in with a vamp . Except of course, if that vampire was Spike. "You. Do. Not. Try. To. Kill. My. Boyfriend," she yelled, each word punctuated by a punch. "You. Do. Not. Get. To. Take. Him. Away. From. Me. If. You. Want. Him. You. Have. To. Kill. Me. First."

She felt a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Think you broke him, Buffy," Spike said softly, looking from her face to the face of the now unconscious vampire.

"He tried to…"

"I know, love. Its part of the fight, you know. You and I, we risk death every night. Nature of the gig, yeah." He helped her up, and then solemnly staked the vamp. "Besides, knew he was behind me that whole time." He shrugged, relatively unconcerned, and lit a cigarette.

"Sorry I kinda freaked."

"Don't apologize to me, pet, I'm not the one who had to deal with the wrath of one very pissed off Slayer. Don't envy that bloke, though," he gestured to the pile of dust. "So, did that other wanker really say he was me. That's just… that's just neat."

"Well in his defense, he wasn't exactly the brightest bulb in the black light box. Not that vampires are known for their illuminative powers."

"Oi! Listen just because some bloke admires me doesn't make him a total git."

"No, but it doesn't help, either," she grinned. "What? Sorry to get in the way of your stupid vampire vanity again? The fragile ego has landed."

God, she looked beautiful. Her face glowing, cheeks flushed, eyes bright, hair, slightly mussed, but bouncy and shiny and golden in the streetlight. He could hear her heart racing, her blood pounding, could smell her arousal from the fight.

When she had finally let him back in, he had expected that the sex would be amazing. It always had been between them. Burning passion and scolding desire. That was what it was to love Buffy. But he had forgotten about the fighting. He had forgotten what it had been like to be in the thick of it with her. He wasn't sure how he could have possibly forgotten. More evidence, he reckoned, against his case that he wasn't a complete nit.

He had always had a stiffy for fighting with her, fighting against her. The way she moved was bewitching. A dance that enthralled, intoxicated him. No wonder he had gone back to sodding Sunnydale so many times. He couldn't get enough of her. Crawled back bloody begging for me, even if it was in the form of an often well deserved ass-kicking.

For him, the sex, the fighting, it all was the same dance. The tune and the tempo might differ, but the thing was the same. Dancing in flames.

Spike chuckled, "You're just jealous I reckon, because those stupid sods didn't recognize you."

"They didn't recognize you either."

"Name recognition. Counts for something. I think you've got a little fame envy."

"I do not have fame envy about a couple of vamps who are clearly not up on current events. Don't you evil guys have a newspaper or something sort of Evil Entertainment Weekly or something."

"Yeah, we get a couple of wankers to stand around and count down gossip of the underworld," he answered sarcastically. "Why can't you just admit it Slayer, you're jealous."

"I so am not. I think you've got a little bit too big of a head, and a bruised ego."

"Want to kiss it and make it better," he pouted.

And she did.

When they finally came apart, Spike smirked. "And I'll have you know my head is just the right size. Not too big. And definitely not too small."

She arched an eyebrow at him. "And I'm Goldilocks?"

"Always were."

"Alright, then, Baby Bear. I think its time to get home. I'm ready for things to be just right."

Spike made a noise halfway between a purr and a growl as she took his hand, leading him through the dark city streets, back to their apartment, their home, their bedroom, and their bed.


	35. Time Passes

**Sorry it took me so long to update. Life got ****really crazy really fast. But, at long last, here is a new chapter. And, I made it somewhat longish (for me anyway) to compensate for the delay. I also wanted to start moving the story forward a bit, so I wrote this using a series of vignettes. They should give you glimpses into Spike and Buffy's developing relationship, while moving the story along temporally. After all, we still have an apocalypse to get to. Thanks so much to those of you following the story, and thanks also to those of you who take the time to leave lovely reviews. I do hope you enjoy. **

**New York 2009**

It amazed her how quickly they could get out of their clothes. It seemed like almost as soon as they were over the threshold to the apartment, he had her down to her underwear. And he was wearing nothing at all.

And then, she was on the bed in nothing more than her black bra and panties, and he was standing beside their bed, his eyes lingering as he looked upon her body, his smoldering gaze devouring her entirely.

"God, Buffy. You are too bloody perfect."

She let her own gaze wander over his body, his perfect compact form. That body that could love as fiercely as it could fight. She bit her lower lip and grinned. "You're not so bad yourself," she said.

And then, he was there and he was kissing her passionately. And his hands were pushing away the fabric of her bra, and his fingers pinching and caressing the sensitive skin of her nipples. "Almost forgot how hot you are when you fight, Slayer," he murmured into her hair. "How hot a bit of the rough and tumble makes you."

And then, her bra was off and his mouth was on one breast, his tongue teasing the erect nipple, while one of his hands cupped the soft skin of her other breast and the other hand trailed down her flat stomach to rub her clit and push aside her panties and plunge two fingers deep inside of her.

"Oh god, Spike," she moaned. "Need you now."

And then, her panties were off and she was straddling him, his cock deep inside of her. And he was looking up at her, his eyes full pleasure and admiration and love. And she knew that her eyes looked the same.

And then, she knew again and again and again, that this was love and that this was definitely something she could get used to.

* * *

><p>A lamp was the first thing Spike brought to the apartment. Buffy did not want to know how he had come by the lamp. She knew that he had stolen things in the past, wouldn't be surprised if still did. Either that, or he had grabbed from a trashcan or dumpster. Or maybe a pawnshop or something. She figured she was probably better off not knowing.<p>

"What's that?" she had asked looking up from her English homework. She was reading some poems by Sharon Olds. They reminded Buffy of herself and Spike, as she once was and as they were now.

_How do they do it, the ones who make love  
>without love? Beautiful as dancers,<br>gliding over each other like ice-skaters  
>over the ice, fingers hooked<br>inside each other's bodies, faces  
>red as steak, wine, wet as the<br>children at birth whose mothers are going to  
>give them away. How do they come to the<br>come to the come to the God come to the  
>still waters, and not love<br>the one who came there with them, light  
>rising slowly as steam off their joined<br>skin?_

That was what she had been, wasn't it? All those years ago. A skater, gliding over his perfect body without loving it, without loving him, without even loving herself. She had been hard and cold, like ice. There had been heat and steam, it was true. The burning the desire she had felt in her gut, between her legs, that had made her go to him again and again, even though she knew it was wrong. Because how could she do those thing with him and not love him. How could she find the still water, find peace with him, through him, as he made her come and come and come again, and not love him?

The poem disturbed her. It was too raw. Too real. It was a brutal reminder of everything she had done with him, done to him. All the ways she had used sex to hurt him and hurt herself.

But she felt solace in the next poem she read.

_At first I cannot have even a sheet on me,  
>anything at all is painful, a plate of<br>iron laid down on my nerves, I lie there in the  
>air as if flying rapidly without moving, and<br>slowly I cool off.-hot,  
>warm, cool, cold, icy, till the<br>skin all over my body is ice  
>except at those points our b<em>_odies touch like  
>blooms of fire …<em>

_We have come to the end of questions,  
>you run your palm, warm, large,<br>dry, back along my face over and  
>over, over and over, like God<br>putting the finishing touches on, before  
>sending me down to be born.<em>

"The end of questions." She and Spike had come to that point, hadn't they? Okay, maybe not to exactly the end of questions, but they were definitely approaching it. And at least the hardest ones had been answered. Why doesn't he come to me? Doesn't he love me anymore? What if I never see him again? What have I done? How could I have left him there to die? Does he know that I really do love him? Doesn't he want me?

Those, at least, had been answered.

And the contrast of hot and cold, that spoke to her too. It made her think of the way that Spike could warm her, even though his body was way colder than hers. The way that his cold touch burned her skin, igniting "blooms of fire" that consumed them both.

"Brought you a lamp, baby," he said, holding it up proudly, disrupting her contemplation of the poems.

"Gee. You shouldn't have. Really really should not have." It wasn't the ugliest lamp ever made, Buffy was pretty sure of that, but it was close to it. Runner-up, maybe second runner up. Whatever it was some designer out there had had a really bad day. The stand was iron and looked like it was writhing in pain. The shade was a sallow pustulish shade of yellow, that actually made Buffy gag a little.

"Well, I didn't exactly get it for you. Hate those fucking fluorescents. Make me look dead."

"You are. Dead, I mean."

"Know that love, but don't exactly fancy looking like bloody corpse."

She put down her pen. "First of all, you're not bloody, just way too British. Anyway when corpses are up and walking and bloody, they're zombies, which are, ew, so not sexy. Secondly, how do you even know what you look like? You haven't exactly been reflectable since fluorescent lights were invented." He did look dead, well deader, under the harsh lights. But, it didn't matter to her. He was there with her, that's what mattered. Not the lights or his pallor. Just him.

He held his hand out in front of him, turning it, examining his alabaster skin, the blue veins that lined it. "I can tell I look damn pale. The bloody English rose doesn't fair so well without sunlight, yeah. Gets all withered and dead looking." He plugged the lamp and turned off the overhead lights. "Ah," he sighed, "much better." Flopping on the couch. "Us dearly departed prefer soft lighting. Goes better with our complexions."

"How romantic. Well, that explains all candles. Got to say I did wonder why creatures that were flammable always seemed to pick fire to light up their crypts. It just seemed, well, dumb. And all the vamp attacks in fancy restaurants finally make sense. Always wondered about that. Interests include mood lighting, long walks on the beach, of course, and, oh yeah, eating people."

In the coming weeks he brought home other things. Buffy never asked where they came from. Rugs and curtains. More lamps and some candle sticks for the bedroom, which he smirked at her as he brought in, "Always was one for playing with fire, love." One night he dragged a desk up the stairs, and another week it was a wardrobe.

When he brought home the painting, she raised her eyebrows.

"What?" he demanded looking at it with an air satisfied appraisal. It was a print, clearly, but it was matted and framed. There was a woman sprawled out on a bed, dressed all in white, with a little gremliny thing perched over it, and a black horse with wild, terrifying eyes.

"Its just a little icky. You know, normal people hang up like still lifes or beach scenes or sunsets or gardens. Not... that. Its just kinda creepy."

"Supposed to be, love. Its a nightmare."

"Well, its not going in the bedroom. I so don't need help with nightmares."

He looked at her, suddenly concerned. "Still having those Slayer dreams, love?" his tone softened.

"Yeah. Never stopped. But they are different now. Not so apocalypticy. But still pretty horrible. Except that it's not the end of the world or whatever big bad is coming to town, it's the girls. I see what they see, you know, almost like through their eyes. And I feel what they feel," she shifted, suddenly uncomfortable. "And usually only when its bad. Like when it's something that totally terrified them. I see it. I experience it with them. Faith gets them too, a little bit, but not as bad. And the other girls don't get them at all. Thank god. They have enough to deal with."

"So do you."

"I know. But it's different with me. Anyway. It's been better. Since you came back. I sleep better." She gestured to the picture. "But there is no way that thing is going to be watching me when I sleep."

He hung it in the living area. She was still pretty wigged by it. It was the horse, she decided. It had crazy eyes that bore into her. Then she decided it was a pun. A night-mare. Okay, she liked puns. She could do the pun thing. It made it a little bit less creepy. But only a little bit.

Spike probably only liked it because it was some sort of weird vamp porn, she decided. The woman's long white neck was extended and exposed. Just kinda asking for it. He didn't bite people any more. She knew this. But just because he didn't do it didn't mean that he didn't like to look. He had a soul now, but there was still a demon in there too. She was sure that there must be points when he was tempted. Maybe this was a fantasy, an escape, a willing victim, or at least a passed out one. Or maybe he just liked it because he was a complete creepy weirdo.

She didn't ask, because in the end, it didn't matter anyway.

* * *

><p>Buffy talked to Dawn. She called her a few days after her phone call to Willow. She had been nervous, afraid of what her sister would say. She so did not need Dawn lecturing her about her love life.<p>

"Hey Dawnie," Buffy greeted her sister, "I need to talk to you about something. About Spike, actually."

"You two are together?"

"Sorta. No. I mean yes. Yes, we are together."

"Finally."

"And…"

"Finally."

"Really? That's it, that's all you've got to say. I was sure I was going to get a whole big speech about how I'm an idiot."

"Well, you are an idiot. But you already know that. At least now you're a happy idiot."

"But you hate him."

"I don't hate him. I never did, Buffy. I was really really angry with him, and really really really disappointed. But I guess he turned out alright. At least you think. And that's what matters I guess."

"Thanks Dawn."

"God, you are so lucky that I got over the whole vampire crush phase so much faster than you did."

* * *

><p>Some nights she was so exhausted that she would fall asleep almost immediately after making love. Her heart and body so full of him, so satisfied, that she would slip into a peaceful dreamless sleep.<p>

Other nights she felt wired. Energized, exulted, by their loving making, she would be up for hours. These nights they would lie in bed together, her head resting on his chest, his arms around her. They would talk sometimes. Or they would lie there without saying a word, wrapped in the comfortable silence of their love, in a state of togetherness that no longer required a spoken language. On these nights, they would gently drift off to sleep. Spike could always tell when she was sleeping by the way her breathing became regular and soft, the rhythm of her heartbeat often lulling him to the sweet unconsciousness rest.

"You breathe even in your sleep," she told him one morning, her hair smushed to one side, her mind still a little groggy, and her eyes still heavy with sleep. She had always found it weird that Spike breathed. Vamps, of course, didn't have to. She had always found it unnerving when Angel, distracted by one crisis or another, would forget to breath. But Spike always did. As if breathing was a habit he had picked up when alive and hadn't been able to break. It made him seem more human.

He turned from his back to his side, spooning her, and throwing an arm across her chest, "Suppose I do."

"I like it," she smiled, running her finger along his forearm, "its normal, you know. Much with the humanness." Her smile widened, "Just promise me one thing."

He kissed her neck, his lips lingering on the sensitive skin. "Anything, pet."

"No snoring, okay. I so do not want us to be that normal." And they both laughed.

* * *

><p>One day she came home from class early to find him strumming a guitar and singing softly.<p>

_Have I ever told you  
>How good it feels to hold you<br>It isn't easy to explain_

She had heard the music as she walked down the hall toward the apartment.

_And though I'm really tryin'  
>I think I may start cryin'<br>My heart can't wait an other day_

_When you kiss me I just gotta_  
><em>Kiss me I just gotta<em>  
><em>Kiss me I just gotta say:<em>

The walls were so embarrassingly thin. She tried not to think about what the neighbors heard coming from their bedroom. She just hoped that most of them were already asleep by the time she and Spike got home from patrol and got into bed.

_Baby, I love you  
>Come on baby<br>Baby, I love you  
>Baby I love, I love only you<em>

But the music was new. She wondered what he could possibly be watching on TV.

_I can't live without you  
>I love everything about you<br>I can't help it if I feel this way_

_Oh I'm so glad I found you_  
><em>I want my arms around you<em>  
><em>I love to hear you call my name<em>

His back was to her, and he did not look up when she opened the door, so she watched him quietly from the doorway.

_Oh tell me that you feel  
>Tell me that you feel<br>Tell me that you feel the same_

_Baby, I love you_  
><em>Come on baby<em>  
><em>baby, I love you<em>  
><em>Baby I love, I love only you<em>

When he finished she cleared her throat.

"You going to tell me how long you've been standing there," he asked, hopelessly, somewhat abashed.

"Not a chance." She paused. "You're good. Really good. I mean I knew you could sing, the whole Sunnydale musical extravaganza, but I didn't know you played."

"I don't," he looked down sheepishly. "Well, not really. Not well."

"You sounded good to me."

"Nah. Just blundering about it."

"When did you learn? I mean, I don't remembering you playing before." I was her turn to look sheepish.

"Didn't. Rae sorta taught me. Something she loved."

"What is she like," Buffy asked. Figuring that it was a stupid question. Guessing that she didn't really want to know the answer. Knowing that she couldn't help asking it. Because she wanted to know more about this woman. This other person with whom he had spent three years of his life. He almost never mentioned her. And Buffy was totally curious. Dangerously curious. The kind of curious that would definitely kill the little kitty.

He shrugged. "She's nice. And pretty. And smart. Had a great ear. Real talent, but a piss poor pupil." That was all he offered.

Buffy was sure that he was downplaying the other woman. After all, pretty was the understatement of the century. She had kinda walked past Rae and Spike's office a few of the days she was on campus. It was stalking. Not really. Well, only a little bit like stalking. And she knew that Rae was way more than just pretty. She was gorgeous. She was perfect. Which meant Spike was probably trying to minimize all her other perfections too. Trying to keep the admiration out of his voice. Trying to keep her from feeling insure or jealous or annoyed or all of those things. But she didn't feel insecure about it. Not anymore. Not really. And she wasn't mad. She just wanted to know.

But he didn't say any more. And for once, she didn't force the matter.

* * *

><p>Buffy called Giles next. He sounded flustered on the phone, not so much surprised by call as by her tone.<p>

"Buffy is that you?" he asked, incredulous.

"Yeah, Giles, its me."

"Sorry, for a moment I did not recognize your voice. You sounded…"

"Happy?"

"I was going to go with different. But, yes, I suppose happy suits your change in tone just as well. Better in fact"

Buffy laughed into the receiver.

"What on earth has gotten into you?" Giles demanded, doing little to conceal the contentment in his own voice.

"Spike," Buffy answered simply, before blushing furiously. She could almost hear Giles whipping off his glasses to clean on the bottom of his sweater. "Not like that. I mean. It's just that Spike and I, well, we kinda are."

"Are what?"

"Together."

"And you are happy about this change in circumstance?"

"Ecstatic."

"Very well."

"Very well," Buffy repeated. "I tell you that I'm with a vampire you despise and all you have to say is 'very well'?"

"Buffy, you are one of the most headstrong women I have ever known. I could argue with you about it. But as stubborn as you are about many things, you are most stubborn about matters of the heart. I'm afraid any argument would be completely fruitless, so I have resolved simply to be happy for you and leave it at that, no matter what my better judgment is currently shrieking at me."

"Giles?"

"Yes, Buffy."

"I love you."

"I love you, too."

* * *

><p>Another day she came home to the apartment stinking of bleach. Spike was there, shirtless, with white gunk covering his head. She couldn't help but laugh.<p>

"You're home early," he growled.

"Thank god," she coked out between laughs. "I so wouldn't have wanted to miss this. This is... This is..." she couldn't finish her sentence, giggles cutting off her words.

He glared at her, doing his best impression of an evil, dangerous, and pissed off vampire. Unfortunately, the bleach, which looked a little to much like frosting or whipped cream, completely undermined his attempted rancor.

"I'm sorry," she tried to apologize before bursting into another fit of giggles. "You just look kinda like Spike with whipped cream on top."

He smirked "Well, don't that sound like a nummy Slayer treat," he arched an eyebrow.

She knew he was trying to be all purry and seductive. But it was just too funny. "I'm sorry." She tried again to apologize, with similar results.

He crossed his arms across his bare chest. "Now you listen to me, Slayer," he growled, "I don't make fun of your hair care routine. And I don't fuss around with bloody highlights or hair dryers.

And yeah, so what if she spent time doing her hair every morning before class, thought Buffy, a bit annoyed that he was picking on her hairdryer. Her hair was one of the few girly luxuries she let herself enjoy. Hair and clothes. Not might be the most practical for demon slayage, but she didn't care. She was allowed to be a just girl sometimes.

Then she looked up, and taking in the sight in front of her, she burst out laughing again. It was just too funny. One of Sunnydale's biggest baddest vamps with hair bleach slathered across his head. And the tough guy act, the way his nostrils pinched, the muscle in his jaw tightened, the way he scowled at her, glowered really, that just made the whole thing more comical. Especially since he was always making fun of Angel's hair. Spike was just as vain. Buffy found herself extremely grateful for the fact that neither vampire could see himself in the mirror. She could only imagine the degree of preening that would take place at that point.

"I'm sure you'll look almost as pretty as me when you're done. Just need a deep conditioning to replenish some of the moisture and you'll be all 'don't hate me because I'm beautiful.'"

"We could go the Herbal Essences route, love. Those bints seem to be really enjoying the lather, rinse, repeat, yeah."

"I don't need shampoo to sound like that in the shower, not when I have you."

"You have me, love. Hook, line, and bloody sinker."

She smiled, "Because I'm worth it."

"Worth all the hell you put me more and through. And I plan to ravish you until you know it yourself," he moved towards her, seductively, before stopping abruptly, remember that his head was still covered in bleach. "Just as soon as I get this sodding stuff off my head."

That night he came home with a can of Ready Whip and, as he swirled his tongue across her nipples, licking off the whipped cream, she realized that he was right. That this was definitely a nummy Slayer treat.

* * *

><p>She eventually called Xander. They hadn't talked very much recently, not since the night they had fumbled into their aborted fucking. Things hadn't been outwardly awkward, but there had been some distance, some embarrassment between them. And she knew this was not going to be an easy conversation. Which is why she had put it off until last.<p>

She told him as gently as she could. He didn't say anything for several minutes.

"Xander?" she asked softly.

"Yeah, Buff. Sorry."

"I know you have never liked him."

"Never liked him? Buffy, I hated him. He… with you… and Anya. I wanted to kill him."

Buffy flinched. "I know. I've wanted to kill him plenty of times myself."

"I just don't know if I can handle this. I mean, I thought it was over between you."

"So did I."

Xander cleared his throat. "So, back from the dead?"

"Yeah, its more common than you might think."

"I'm beginning to see that."

There was an awkward pause.

"And he is some kind of professor."

"Yeah. He is."

"Now that I would love actually love to see."

Another awkward pause.

"And you guys are what, like living together?"

"We are."

"Well, then I hope you are beginning to realize how much I sacrificed for you and your Evil Dead obsession. I let him crash at my place not once, but twice. Vampire does not equal excellent house guest."

"He is not that bad."

"He doesn't even do his own laundry."

"He does now."

"And I will be accepting your heartfelt gratitude at any time."

"Uh."

"Oh come on. I laundry trained him. Before living with me, he was so not big with the spin cycling."

* * *

><p>"You know what," Buffy announced, "we are Beatrice and Benedick."<p>

They were sitting together on the couch. Well, he was sitting. She was definitely a bit more loungey, propped up somewhat by pillows, her feet in his lap. He was rereading _1984_; she was reading Shakespeare's _Much Ado About Nothing_.

The play had surprised her. She had thought that Shakespeare was all about the tragedy. The star crossed lovers. The ambitious statesmen. The mad princes. His plays always seemed to have a whole lot of people dying in them. But this one was different. It had surprised her. And when Spike had explained the Elizabethan pun in the title ("No-thing. Got it, Slayer. According to old Willy its all about pussy, yeah," he had smirked), she had been even more surprised.

He looked at her amused, tilting his head. "How so, Slayer?"

"Because they've spent all of their lives fighting. They are attracted to each other, but they can't admit it to themselves, so they turn that desire into hate, and they hurt each other. Its like what we did for way too long."

He raised an eyebrow. "So, what you're saying is that you've always been attracted to me, Summers?"

She rolled her eyes. "As much as I hate to say it, because I know it will go right to your head, yeah, I think so."

"Took you a bloody long time to figure it out."

"Please. Like you knew right away. You had plans to turn me into a Buffy buffet until my mom hit you over the head with an axe."

"I like the sound of this Buffy buffet. What time does it open?"

She shoved him playfully. "Not the point, Spike."

He grinned. "No. I get it, Buffy. And, I'm sorry for all the things I did that hurt you."

"I know, Spike. And I'm sorry for all the things I did to hurt you. Especially since you did figure it out before me. _And, Benedick, love on; I will requite thee._"

"_Taming my wild heart to thy loving hand_." He paused. "Although, got to admit, Slayer, you hand was, for the most part, pretty far from loving."

* * *

><p>Buffy really hated the New York winter. New York fall, Spike reminded her. But it felt wintery to her. She was still a California girl at heart, and the blustery autumn winds chilled her to the bone.<p>

Patrols were the worse. Stupid vampires only came out at night when the little warmth the sun provided had vanished in the cold night air.

By the end of October she went out on patrol bundled up like it was the dead of winter. Why did they call it the dead of winter, she wondered? Maybe because of the spike in supernatural activity. Demons hated the summer, the long days kept them confined, and they got sluggish, lethargic, and lazy during those hot and hazy nights. But the cold did little to slow them down. Which was wicked annoying. Her hand was turning to a stakicles, and the vampires seemed completely unfazed by the frigid air.

"Shouldn't you like go into hibernation or something?" she demanded of Spike.

"Not how it works, love," he chuckled. "Not to worry, there are plenty of ways to warm you up."

"I vote for hot chocolate."

"A cuppa coco sounds good to me."

"Then other toasty activities?"

"Sounds like a plan, Summers."

"I like this plan."

"And I like this cold front, or whatever it is making you melt."

She pouted and he crushed his cold lips against her own, igniting a fire that warmed them both the whole way home.

**The Sharon Olds poems Buffy reads are "Sex without Love," and "After Making Love in Winter." The print that Spike brings home is a copy of **_**The Nightmare**_** by Henry Fuseli. Spike is, of course, singing The Ramones, "Baby, I love you." And the lines of Shakespeare they quote are from Act 3: Scene 1 of **_**Much Ado About Nothing**_**. **


	36. Save Me

**Thank you so much to everyone who has been following and reviewing this story. Welcome to Part II. **

You struck me dumb like radium  
>Like Peter Pan or Superman<br>You will come to save me  
>C'mon and save me<br>If you could save me  
>From the ranks of the freaks<br>Who suspect they could never love anyone

"Save Me," Aimee Mann 

Part II: Save Me

**New York 2009**

One night they vanquished a bloody dragon. You had to phrase it like that, Spike reckoned. You couldn't just beat a dragon or killed a dragon. You didn't duff up a dragon or whip him or wallop him or even make mince meat out of him. You had to vanquish him. Or at the very least slay him. Bloody pretentious buggers those dragons were.

Giles had phoned Buffy, telling her about a bit of trouble down in the metro. Apparently a dragon had been using an abandoned tunnel for its lair. Sodding city had too many of those damned tunnels, rat mazes for the demon population in search of its fucking cheese. How a dragon got down there Spike hadn't the foggiest, and Giles had not been able to provide any remotely plausible theories although he did stutter bout it quite a bit. But apparently it had gotten down there, step up shop, and was now making trouble for the 5 train. Had caused a couple of crashes and had killed quite a few people. Probably saw the subway as a convenient commuter conveyer belt delivering dinner right to its bloody front door.

So, Giles had asked them to take care of it. He offered to contact some of the Slayers stationed in the tri-county area, but Buffy had refused. Didn't want to be responsible if something happened to them, Spike figured. Didn't want to see this particular horror through their eyes. And Spike hadn't objected. All of the newbies still seemed so green. They had been Slaying much longer than Buffy had when he had first met her, but they all seemed so coddled to him. Slayers used to be thrown into the thick of it. The good ones lasted a few years and got better. Better, until one of the nasties she had to fight had a better day than she did. The ones that weren't good. Well, they didn't last long. Some of them were trained from childhood. But that didn't seem to do much good. Look at that Kendra bird. She'd been trained since she was an embryo, and she hadn't lasted a year. And she had been bagged by Dru. Not a great warrior or a bad ass demon, but a barmy bitch with hypno eyes and a killer manicure.

No, it didn't matter how many books the Wanker's Council made them read, or how hard their Watchers trained them, or what kind of test and evaluations they were put through, some Slayers had it and some did not.

And Spike was afraid that whatever girls Giles provided wouldn't have it. And he wanted to be sure of whoever he went down there with. Buffy he could be sure of.

He knew that there safety in numbers, but only if those numbers were worth something. Math had to be right in order for that clichéd equation to work out right.

Better to go down there with just Buffy than to have to worry bout watching the backs of a couple of Slayers who were still wet behind their bloody ears. Better to just know he had to keep himself and the Slayer alive. The fewer the bodies to add to the possible count.

So, he and Buffy had declined the backup and had gone down into the dragon's lair on their own.

Probably not the smartest choice either of them had made.

Buffy had been fucking thrilled to be fighting a dragon. "I've never fought a real live dragon before," she had practically gushed, her eyes gleaming.

"Sound like bleeding Angel, you do," he had replied, wondering what it was about white hats and dragons. "You fight own oversized lizard you've fought them all."

"But Spike this is a dragon. An actual dragon. This is actually pretty cool." 

He figured it must be something with hero complex. Dragons were some kind of archaic icon of evil that the good guys just had to vanquish. Maybe it was some kind of residual antipathy, a chronic sore spot, still pissed about being tossed out of god's garden.

More likely, though, they probably just thought it was neat.

Spike, on the other hand, thought it was stupid. Big, ugly lizards with really big, ugly teeth and tails strong enough to send you through six feet of concrete. Not to mention the wings that could flatten a man like a pancake if you were in a tight enough spot. Scales like armor. Oh, yeah, and the fire breath. Yeah, definitely not a look he wanted to know better. He was way too flammable for this particular brand of bollocks.

But here he was traipsing into the tunnels like the fucking cavalry. Actually, he had been surprised that Buffy hadn't insisted that they ride in the dragon's lair mounted on their bloody mighty steeds or what have you. Maybe that was the white hat fixation with dragons. Fancied themselves St. Georges or Sir Lancelots.

Angel sure did. Thought of himself as one of the knights of the bleeding round table. Actually he was more like the big man himself. King Arthur, pulling swords out of stones and lording over everyone. Suppose that would make him Lancelot. One of the impure knights. Not worthy of any bloody grail or cup. No, let Angel be obsessed with the grails and the dragons. Bugger that. He didn't care so long as he was the one who ended up with his Guinevere, his Slayer, his Buffy. Angel could have all the dragons in the world, all the cups, and quests, so long as Spike was with his girl.

Unfortunately, in order to be with his girl, he had to be fighting a dragon. So goes Buffy, so sodding goes his nation. Even if that meant going into the bloody dragon lair.

It would be fun, if it wasn't so dangerous. He would have enjoyed the violence, the fight, the gnashing teeth parrying his axe. But Buffy was there, and he could not lose her. Had to protect her. She was as good a fighter as any. She could handle herself in a fight unlike any woman, any Slayer, any warrior he had ever known. But she was mortal. She was strong but breakable, powerful but fragile. And he could not lose her.

So everything he did was to protect her. Had he been alone, he would have attacked full force, a furry of fist and fang and steel. But he couldn't do that. Not with her there. His job was to defend her. At all costs. At any. His job was to save the girl, even if it killed him. Because if she was dead, he might as well be.

"Spike, what the fuck are you doing?" Buffy screamed at him, as the beast reared back beat his wings at them.

"Thought that was pretty fucking clear, love. Having a spot of tea with the bloody queen. What the fuck do you think I'm doing? Trying to vanquish this bloody dragon I am," he yelled back over the din of dragon.

"You're holding back. And I so need you stop that. Like right now."

"Not holding back, love. Just trying to make sure you don't wind up charbroiled dragon nibbles."

"Well cut it out. I don't need you playing rear guard, Spike. I need you in this fight."

She needed him in this bloody fight. She was the one who went skipping off to find Puff in the first bloody place. He roared, as his vampire features overtook his human ones, and charged towards the dragon. He would bloody show her who was in the fucking fight. The dragon, who was lunging at her, whipped its head around to face him. Oh bloody hell, he thought, seeing the smoke rising from the reptile's nostrils. This had been a bloody daft plan. He was way too flammable for this shit. If that thing started spewing flames, he was toast. Literally. Vamp toast. Extra fucking crispy.

So, he did the only thing he could think of, swung his axe and hoped for the best. It was the first time he was close enough to actually land a blow on the dragon's underbelly. The thing was covered in sodding scales thick as armor, but its underbelly was softer, still tough, but leathery not steely. The blade of his axe sliced into the vulnerable and exposed flesh of the dragon, and the worm reared back, roaring, black blood spurting from the wound. Great, now he'd pissed the bloody thing off.

"Sword would be nice, love," he yelled to Buffy, who was hanging back. Probably in awe of his bloody stupid heroics. Slayer should know better than to goad him.

She tossed him the sword, the blade spinning through the air. He caught the handle and thrust it upward in one fluid motion, hoping to the PTB he had impaled the thing through the heart. Always seemed to work that way in the movies. Judging from the way thing reeled and crumpled, he guessed it worked. Supposed even the daftest blokes had a bit of luck sometimes. God, he needed a fag.

He was pulling his pack of cigarettes from his pocket when Buffy threw her arms around him. "That was amazing. You are amazing. I've never seen anyone fight like that. You were like a hero from one of those really epically long poems."

"Epics?"

"Yeah those. Or those stories about medieval knights, fighting dragons to save maidens or something."

Spike groaned. Bloody hero complex. "That would make you then maiden, then, I gather," he leered. "Does that mean I get to ravage you, sully your virgin purity, and all of that rubbish."

She blushed. "I'm pretty much sullied."

He grinned, "Suppose you're not exactly the helpless maiden, yeah? But, then again, I'm hardly a knight in shining armor. That's Angel's gig. Not exactly my style. Besides, whenever I try to save the girl, I end up buggering it up. Either fail completely or waste my time saving a girl that doesn't need saving."

"You saved me. Not today I mean. I totally could have taken it, if you hadn't rushed in there like a big dummy." He glared at her. She taunted him into doing it, and he was the big dummy. "But you have saved me. Mostly from myself. Which is kinda what I always need saving from. Beasties I can take, but when it comes to my own demons, not so much."

Her last words softened him. "Grateful to hear you say that Slayer, but you would have been fine without me."

"Really not. I mean, Willow brought me back, but in a lotta ways you brought me back to life. I never really thanked you."

He sheepishly ran his hand over his hair and looked down. "No need, didn't do much. Didn't do what I should have."

"Without you I was like Robo Buffy. Except that even the bot was happier than I was. Granted, she was programmed that way, by you. So, I guess you're what made her happy too."

"Whole different kinda making, love." He didn't like talking about the Buffy bot. Dredging up more memories of the ways he had fucked things up with her, over and over and over a-bloody-gain.

She could sense his pain. "My point is, that you are my Champion, Spike. The one I chose. Now ravage me!"

He growled, "If only you were wearing a bloody bodice for me to rip off of you. Do this bit proper, yeah?"

"Also, would probably be more romantic if dragon blood didn't smell quite so putrid."

"Don't know if that's blood or sewer, love."

"Whatever it is, it's definitely ewish."

"Maybe we ought to toddle home then. Save the ravaging for more pleasant olfactory pastures."

She groaned, "Are we turning into like an old married couple. There was a time you would have ravaged me in a filthy stinking sewer without a second thought about the smell."

Spike chuckled, "If old married couples slay dragons and battle the forces of darkness ever night before going home for a four hour shag, then yeah, guess we are. Not so bad though, is it?" 

"I could get used to it. Just as long as you don't think you'll get bored with me."

"Don't think that's even possible, Buffy. More likely you'll be bored with me."

"You're the most least boring person I know."

"I guess I'll take that compliment love. Even going to pretend that was English."

They took the subway home, resolving not to patrol the rest of the night. Being out hunting for beasties after coming off of a fight like that, would be dangerous, fatal. So, it would be an early night it for them. They had headed out to fight the dragon early, hoping to deter it from it's rush hour snack. The car they had gotten into was still pretty crowded. They would be home by eight-o-clock the latest. And Spike reckoned that they wouldn't have much difficulty figuring out what to do.

The ride home was maddening. They were packed in the metro car like bloody sardines, her body pushed firmly against his. He could smell her excitement, her adrenaline, her arousal. It was intoxicating. If only all of those people hadn't been in the bloody subway car he would have taken her there. She was suffering, too, he knew. She squirmed about, unable to keep still, and when they got to their stop she grabbed his hand, pushed non-too-gently through the crowd, and bolted for their apartment.

They were barely through the door before she was undressing him. He had to pull his coat from the threshold, where she had pushed it off his shoulders, just to get the door closed. Not that her coat and hat and shirt and pants where that far behind.

She pulled his shirt over his head, her hands trailing over his immaculate abs, as he deftly removed her bra, his hands eagerly caressing her nipples.

"Oh god, Spike," she breath, her teeth nipping at his ear, her hands reaching for his belt buckle, his zipper, grabbing eagerly at his cock. "Want you. Need you. Now."

Spike growled as he roughly removed her jeans. He hated it when she wore trousers. Always had preferred his women in skirts and dresses. It wasn't it sexist thing. He just liked the easy access. Although, he reckoned, not exactly dragon fighting attire.

He pushed her against the wall and plunged into her deeply. She was so wet, and tight, and hot. Hotter than bloody dragon's breath. And she smelled a lot better. Like sunshine and arousal and adrenaline. A fight like that released a shit ton of endorphins. It was intoxicating. Runner's high his ass. No wonder he had been so addicted to violence. It made you feel euphoric, invincible, transcendent. It made you feel bloody good.

Not quite as good being hilt deep in Buffy, engulfed by her body, her scent. But still pretty good. Wasn't bad for a first course, especially his Slayer was the main course. And the dessert.

The fucked frantically, made love with a kind of fervor that surprised them both. There was a kind of primal urgency, a primordial need to unite, to fuse their two bodies into on. Being together for them was always intense, passionate, draining even. But, they had never been together like this before. Not when they had just been reunited and were exploring and reclaiming each other's bodies. Not when made love before The First. Not when they had fucked out of his desperation to make her love him and her desperation to feel anything at all. But, then again, they had never fought and slain a dragon together either. Spike had long known that fighting vamps turned Buffy on, turned out that fighting dragons made her bloody insatiable.

It was a little past one when Buffy fell asleep, finally satiated, filled with his seed, covered in his scent. She had hardly closed her eyes before dropping off into a deep sleep. Funny how she could do that. He had always pegged her as a tosser and turner. And he supposed she was when times were bad. But when she was content she slept like a babe.

He watched her sleeping for a little while, marveling at the gentle beauty of her face, her lips, her hair. She looked like a bloody angel, so peaceful and serine. Amazing how such a warrior could look so vulnerable, so soft, so lovely. Every day she amazed him.

His stomach growled, and he reluctantly got out of bed and walked into the kitchen. Figured he was heat up a bit of blood and then turn in for a bit of shut eye. He was a bit knackered himself. After all, it had been a long day. And warm blood was a bit like a mug of warm milk, if once didn't think about the color or taste. Or the fact that milk was life, while blood, the blood he drank anyway, meant only death. But it was close enough, he figured. Anyway, he always found it relaxing.

He was just finishing he blood when he heard his phone vibrate. Odd. Nobody ever phoned him. Didn't know why he had kept the bloody thing. To phone Buffy supposed. And she had insisted that he put the Scoobies numbers in there. For emergencies, she had said. He looked at her incredulously. What kind of emergencies did she think they were going to come against, what couldn't the two of them face. Why would he need the sodding Scoobies on speed-dial? But she had insisted. Okay, then, she had said, if not for emergencies, for me. He had given in.

So maybe there was an emergency now. He didn't know if they had his number, but it seemed possible that Buffy had given it to them. But, then why weren't they phoning her. Unless they had tried to and Buffy had been too preoccupied to hear it. He walked over to where the phone was, the light on the screen bright in the dark living room. He looked at the caller id.

Oh, bloody hell.

Not the Scoobies.

Balls.

Rae.


	37. A Girl Redux

**New York 2009**

Fuck.

Bloody hell.

Fucking bloody fucking hell.

Spike looked down at the screen of his phone again.

Balls. Said the same bloody thing.

Rae.

What the fuck was going on here?

He had not even considered that she would phone him. She had taken the sodding split well. Had left a few more of his things in their office. Hadn't left any more notes. In fact, she hadn't tried to communicate with him at all. Not so much as a bloody peep out of her. At department meetings she avoided him, often not even looking at him. Once or twice during those meetings he had searched her face for a sign of agony or distain, but that had been fucking fruitless. Had actually hurt his pride a little that she hadn't been more torn up bout his leaving. Hurt a bloke's ego a bit. But that really hadn't mattered to him. He had Buffy, after all. All the better that she wasn't mooning over him, moping about him being gone, trying to win him back. Sure, he didn't like being dismissed so readily, without a bloody backward glance, but he reckoned he should just shut up and count it among his blessings.

But, if she hadn't made so much as eye contact, why the fuck was she phoning him now. At this bloody hour. It was after one in the morning. There were only two reasons a broad would phone so late.

And he didn't think this was invitation for a shag.

Which meant the bird was in trouble.

Which meant that he probably should answer the phone.

Except for one thing.

Buffy.

He was afraid that answering the phone would be some kind of betrayal of Buffy. Or at least she would interpret it as some kind of betrayal. That barmy brain of hers would twist everything around and she would end up accusing him of some rubbish. She would end up brassed off at him, probably bitching him out, if not throwing him out.

And that he couldn't bear.

Because things had been so fucking amazing with her the past two months. They had built a bloody life, a bloody home together, and he couldn't risk it all falling apart. Didn't want to be the one to push bloody humpty dumpty off the bleeding wall. Because it would fucking kill him if things fell apart now.

But, this was Buffy.

And if Rae was in trouble wouldn't Buffy want him to help her?

That's what the whole chosen one gig was about, wasn't it. Protecting humanity from the forces of darkness and all. And Rae was part of humanity. So, if she was being attacked by the forces of darkness, wasn't it their job to protect her? Wasn't it the bleeding right thing to do?

And if Rae was phoning him, she must be right desperate. In need of some pretty serious protection.

If she was turning to him for help after everything he had done to her, she must have run out of options a bloody long time ago.

He had been so rotten to her. A real prick, leaving her like that. It was what he had to do. He knew that. It wouldn't have been fair to either of them if he had stayed. It wouldn't have been right to string her along or worse. But still, she had done what she could for him. The only thing she had done wrong was not being Buffy. And that wasn't something she could really help, yeah.

So if he could help her out now, didn't he at least owe her that much. Square things up by saving her life and calling them even.

Wasn't it the bleeding right thing to do?

"Bloody fucking hell," he muttered under his breath as he picked up the phone.

"Hello," he said quietly. No point in waking Buffy, not yet anyway.

"Spike," she said his name with a sob. "Oh god. Thank god, you answered…" The rest of her words were drowned in tears, made completely unintelligible by all her bloody blubbering.

So he had been right. Bird was in trouble. Or else she was really really really desperate for a lay.

"Shh. Shh. I'm here, kitten. You're going to be okay. I promise, love," he tried to sooth her. It was bout as effective as trying to batter down a brick wall with a daisy.

"Spike, oh god. Spike, they're after me."

"Who's after you?" he demanded, his tone suddenly steely and sharp. What bloody wanker thought he could go after one of his girls? Balls, she might not be his girl any more, but she was still his to look after. It was still his job, his responsibility, to protect her, take care of her if he could. And whatever bloke thought that she was a bit of nosh or easy pickings, that blighter would be right dead right quick.

If there was one way to get William the Bloody bloody pissed off, it was go after one of his girls.

Rae didn't respond, he could hear her whimpering on the other end of the line.

"Who's after you?" he repeated in a growl.

But fear had effectually gagged her. He remembered the night when she had been attacked by those two vamps after leaving the bar, the night when he had told her what he was, the night when they had first gone to bed together. It was the same bloody thing. The fear overwhelming her, paralyzing her. She had seen a lot worse since that, he knew. But she had always had him there to protect her. Now she was alone and terrified and she had been bloody fortunate that she had had enough presence of mind to phone him at all. Who knew how many hours she had spent trembling wherever she was before she had the strength to call for help. Bird was lucky some nasty hadn't stumbled upon her, an easy snack.

"Rae," he said, speaking slowly and softy, concentrating on making his tone a bit more soothing, a bit gentler. "Rae, kitten, listen to me. I'm going to help you, pet. But I need to know where you are, and what I'm going to be up against." It was the way he might have spoken to a child, he reckoned, or someone who was a complete moron. But he was getting pretty close to the end of his tether, and he needed some bleeding answers from the girl.

"The school," she said softly, "I'm at the school."

"Care to be a bit more specific, love? And what bloody beasty has gotten you so afraid."

At the mention of whatever was after her, she started sobbing again. "Fucking perfect. This is just brilliant," Spike muttered. Well, at least he knew where to start. And he would be able to pick up her scent pretty quickly. It was familiar enough. As for whatever had her cowering in this bloody corner, he figured it was probably big, bad, and ugly. Just the way he liked them. He would prepare for the worse. Just as long as it wasn't another bloody dragon.

"Okay, Rae. I need to get off the phone. But I will come for you. I promise. I'll take care of you. You are going to be okay. I swear to you I'll save you. And I don't make any promise to a lady lightly. Never have. Understand?"

He heard rustling at the other end of the line, which he figured for a nod.

"Okay, love. I'll be there in a few minutes." And he hung up the phone.

"Bloody fucking hell," he swore. What the fuck was he thinking? Buffy was going to be bloody pissed off. Especially when he woke her up for this little search and rescue mission. She probably would punch him in the nose, and he wasn't entirely sure he didn't deserve it.

But he had done the right thing, hadn't he. A person was in trouble, being hunted down and harmed by some nasty, and it was his job to save her. It didn't matter if that person happened to be his ex shag. She was still just a girl, a human girl, and one in need of saving.

He had to think fast, because Rae did not sound like she had much time before she went completely barmy, and then who knew where she might bunk off to.

God, he needed a plan.

Which meant that he needed Buffy. Because she was the girl with the plans. Not him, whenever it came to planning on his own, he inevitably buggered it up.

The only problem was that the plan he needed was for how to deal with Buffy. And he couldn't bloody well ask her for help with that.

Bollocks.

Alright, he thought. He could do this. He just needed a plan. He looked down. Okay, trousers first. Then he would think of something.

He padded quietly into the bedroom, before realizing that Buffy had ripped his pants off well before they had gotten that far.

Fucking great.

As he turned to leave, he heard the rustling of the sheets. She had rolled over to her side, and stretched her arms out to his empty space in the bed. It would be so bloody easy, he thought to forget about Rae and his pants and the whole fucking world and crawl into that space, into those arms. But he couldn't do it.

God, she was so beautiful when she was asleep. So peaceful in those rare moments of rest. How many nights the past two months had he lay awake almost all night just watching her. A bloody poofter he was. It was the sort of thing William would have swooned over and written his pouncy poetry over. But if there was ever a subject for poetry, it was her.

He couldn't wake her, he decided. He wouldn't. He would let her get this much needed and well deserved rest. He would go and take care of whatever need to get taken care of and he would be back to her before first light. She would probably never even know he had gone.

He felt a pang of guilt as he remembered the other men who had left her while she slept. Bloody Angelus decided that the soul bit was overrated. That fucking college boy who had trapped her and used her and left her broken. That bloke took the prize for stupid. If Spike ever ran into him, god him, soul or not he would rip the fucker's head off. Blighter wasn't using it anyway.

And then sodding overgrown Cub Scout running off in the middle of the night to be with some cheap vampire trollop, when he could have been in bloody bed with Buffy. Stupid git had risked everything with her just to get his blood pumping, his juices flowing from a suck job by some two bit whore. Had served Captain America right, getting caught in the act like that. Any wanker who would risk things with Buffy for a filthy piece like that, well that wanker didn't deserve her in the first place.

Spike just hoped that he wasn't a wanker too.

But, no, this was different. He knew that. He wasn't wandering off in the middle of the night to meet up with some cheap hooker. He had gotten a call for help and it would be wrong to ignore that call. And it probably wasn't a big deal anyway. Besides Buffy was tired from fighting with the dragon and fucking with him.

He would take care of this and he would be back before morning. He would come back to her. Always had, and always fucking would. Nothing would ever change that. He was hers, heart, body, and soul. He was certain of that, and by this point he bloody well hoped she knew it too.

Besides, this was nothing. A call to save a sodding, silly girl. So what if this call had been through an actual phone, it was the same old routine. Didn't matter if he heard a scream in the night or caught a wiff of fear in the air or was bloody phoned, he had to go. It was the right thing to do.

He took one last look at Buffy. She would understand, wouldn't she? She would probably do the same thing if she were in his shoes. Except a lot more dramatically and with a lot more angst. That was her style. All heroic. He didn't care much for the fanfare. Leave that rubbish for Angel.

"Be back soon," his voice barely a whisper, and careful not to wake her he bent over her and brushed a kiss across her forehead. "I love you, Buffy."

Once out of the bedroom, he pulled on his trousers, his tee-shirt, and his duster. He was about to leave when he thought better of it. What if she woke up and wondered where he was? Poor Slayer had woken up way to many times to find herself alone. He wouldn't do that, not without some sort of explanation.

In the kitchen he left a note for her.

_Sorry, love, heard a call for help. You would think a bloke could get a bit of sleep after slaying a sodding dragon, but no rest for the weary white hats, yeah. Didn't want to wake you. You were so knackered, and you look so beautiful when you're sleeping. Be home before first light. I love you. —S _

There. That way if she woke up, she would know he hadn't pulled a Houdini and run off for some tawdry thrills.

He grabbed a sword, and dagger for good measure, and shoving a stake up his sleeve he went out into the night to save the girl again.


	38. Promises

**New York 2009**

She wasn't hard to find. He could smell her as soon as he walked onto campus. He had flashed his ID at the guard at the gate, who half asleep, didn't even really look at his card before waving him in. Who knew what other demons and dangers the man had allowed to pass by him. He inhaled deeply. That familiar scent of honeysuckle and damp earth, overlain by the heavy sweetness of adrenaline and the musky tinge of fear. He could easily discern hers from the smells of the other humans still on campus. Students, some already tucked away in their beds. More of whom were completely pissed, their blood teeming with cheap beer and cheaper vodka. It smelt rank, disgusting. He sneered as he passed two girls. Freshmen by the look of them, giggling as they staggered through campus. They were scantily dressed, despite the cold, shivering, as they stumbled. Stupid cows, he thought, did they know there were bad beasties out there who wouldn't mind making a night cap out of a pair of bladdered birds. Hell, he has used to be one of them.

"Heeeey, wait a minnnnute," one of the girls said as they both came to a halting stop. Spike also stopped, suddenly, and he stood completely still. The girls didn't look familiar, but he really did not want to run into any of the students from his class. He didn't have time for their drunken prattle, and he really didn't want to explain what he was doing on campus at this hour. He turned around slowly. The girls swayed and then looked at him blankly, their eyes glossy and blank from the alcohol. "You're cccuuute, mann," the girl who had spoken initially managed to slur.

"And you're pissed," Spike remarked dryly. He didn't have bloody time for this bullshit. "And you best be getting home. There are bad men out there who wouldn't mind a nibble on both you."

The first girl looked at her friend. "Annd he is Engllllish. Ssso sssexy." Then she looked at him brazenly, fortified by alcohol. "You cooould take usss home for a nnnnibble," she tried to flip her hair and wink, but only lurch forward and start giggling.

"Get home," Spike growled, before shifting into vamp face. He didn't like to wear the visage of his demon on campus. There were just enough old religious sorts about, stodgy superstitious priests, and he didn't want them to suss out what he really was. But he wasn't worried about these two girls. They were exactly the Nancy Drew type. That is, if they even remembered what they saw when the managed to wake up from whatever puddle of vomit they passed out in. If they did remember, it would be nothing more than a blurry recollection, the memory clouded by wine coolers and god knew what else.

The girls stared at him for a moment, screamed and ran off in the opposite direction. He saw one of them stumble and fall down, but they would get home safe. A scrapped knee was nothing compared to what else was out there.

He turned his attention to Rae. He picked up on her scent easily. It was so distinct among the muddle masses. A thin green strand leading him to her. A trail of bread crumbs scented with gardinia and fresh cut grass.

She was in their office. When he tried the door it was locked. Fuck, he had forgotten his bloody key. He knocked lightly on the door. "Rae," he said gently. "Rae, it's me."

He could hear her sobbing. "Open the god damn door," he muttered, before tapping lightly again. "Got to let me in, love," he said, trying to keep his tone soft, even.

"Spike," he heard her sob weakly. "Oh god, Spike, is that you."

"Is, kitten. Now please open the bloody door."

He heard her struggle to get up, and she walked toward the door, she was heavily favoring her right leg. He could hear it in her steps. She must have put together a makeshift barricade, and he heard her struggle to move something away from the door. But if she could move it, he was guessing it probably was not heavy enough to hold off whatever she had intended to keep out. Wouldn't have kept him out if he had been intent on getting in.

She opened the door and flung herself at him. She was trembling, and she felt so small against him. Then he smelt the blood. The blood. It was all over her, pooled on the floor of the office. God, it was everywhere. It overwhelmed his senses

"Bloody hell woman, what the fuck happened to you?"

It was her leg. He could smell it as each beat of her hear sent a surge of blood to the wound. She needed help.

"Rae. Shhh, kitten, I'm here. But I'm gonna need to take a look at your leg, yeah?"

He pushed her arms gently from around his neck, and she looked up into his face. Her usually tan skin was pale, the pallor of fear and loss of blood. She looked drawn and tired and terrified. Her eyes were wide and wild, like an animal that had been hunted and cornered, like an animal that was trapped and terrified, panicked, desperate, and afraid.

And yet somehow she still managed to look lovely.

She leaned on him heavily as he led her over to the desk, and he lifted her gently, helping her to sit. There was no way of knowing how much blood she had lost, but he figured it was a lot. She should be in worse shape than she was.

The left leg of the pants she was wearing was soaked with blood. He used his dagger to cut the shredded fabric around her calf away from her leg, careful to keep from putting any pressure on the wound. She winced a few times, but did not complain. When he saw the gash in her leg, he shuddered.

Something had torn into her calf. A bloody big something, fucking nasty. He wasn't sure what it was, but something with incisors that size… no wonder the girl was a bloody mess.

Werewolf, he thought for a moment. But no, if it had been a were, he would have smelled it on her. That rank canine stench. So, at least she was safe from that evil.

He looked up and met her eyes, trying to keep the concern out of his. He would get her out of here, get her home, get her cleaned up and taken care of. And tomorrow night, he and Buffy would go out and go after whatever the hell had done this to her.

"Hand me that sodding scarf thing you've got on," he said gruffly, afraid of letting any emotion enter his voice. Afraid that he might give himself away. Make her even more terrified. Good thing he had the badass vamp routine to fall back on. He had hid his feelings for almost a century with that bit. Now was not the time to start getting soggy and emotion.

Now he had to stop the bleeding. It had started clotting a bit, which was bloody miraculous and a good sign. But every time she moved the wound reopened, causing more blood to seep out. A bandage wouldn't solve that problem, but it would have to do as a tourniquet until he could treat the leg properly.

She whimpered a few times, as he wrapped her green and gold pashmina around her leg, concentrating hard on keeping his human face. With all of this blood around it was hard not to vamp. His demon was roaring inside of him to drink from her. To keep his mind off of the blood, he thought of Buffy. "I'm not sampling I'll have you know," he remembered telling her. "Knew you wouldn't like it." Buffy had been the one who had guided him to goodness; she had taught him again what it was to be human, all the pain and the suffering and the humiliation, but all of the love too. He needed her here with him now. It had been a bloody awful plan to go off without her. Never should have even tried to do this alone.

But he had to hold things together. For Rae. Because she deserved at least that much from him.

He knelt before her and applied pressure to the wound, and managed to at least slow the bleeding. But it was infected. Already. He could smell it. The acrid edge already tainting the sweetness of her blood. Whatever had bitten her had a damned dirty mouth. Probably poison or venom or rot or something. Not something he wanted to find out first hand. Actually kinda wished the Scoobies were here so they could hold when of their sodding book orgies. Bugger if he knew where to even begin.

He felt her finger brush languidly against his face. She was burning up. He looked into her face, her large green eyes were glassy, her cheeks flushed. Feverish and, from what he could tell, getting worse. He was going to have to get her some meds. And fast.

"I knew you would come," said softly. "You were always a good man."

He stood up and looked into her face. "Not always, love. Far from it. But I've been trying. All a bloke can do is try, yeah. And I never break a promise to a lady."

He had promised her that he would protect her. She had taken a risk getting involved with him in the first place, and he had let her know that. He had royally pissed off a couple of power players in the demon scene, warlords and the like. When she had shacked up with him, there was the possibility that she had signed up for a couple of hit lists. He had known that, and he had made sure that she had understood the risks. She had. And he had promised that he would protect her. That as long as he was moving about this particular plain of existence, he would make sure that none of those big nasties got to her.

And now this had happened. He couldn't shake the thought that maybe this had happened to her because of him. Maybe some baddy big shot hadn't gotten the memo that they had split up. That he had a new girl now. One that wouldn't be overly intimidated by a couple of demon goons. Or maybe they had known that he had moved out, had moved on, maybe they had known that Rae was out there completely vulnerable. A fact that had made him vulnerable to.

Because he may have buggered things up with her. He might have been a right bastard in the way he had treated her. But if anything happened to her, the guilt would overwhelm him. And if it happened to her because of him, it would turn him to dust.

She looked at him blankly for a moment. And then she clenched her jaw, a wave of pain rolling through her. Spike was actually surprised she was hurting more than she was. She was in shock. Neat thing, that. Let humans survive pain that would have destroyed them otherwise.

The shock and the adrenaline. That was what had let her keep going for as long as she had. Fear was a bloody brilliant motivator. Her barricade of the door had been less than inspired. Looked like all she had managed to do was drag the few chairs in the office over to the door. Probably wouldn't have even slowed down whatever did that to her leg. But she had tried, and that was something.

And she had called him. That was what really counted.

"We need to get you out of here, pet," he said soothingly. "Do you think you can walk?"

"I don't know," her eyes welled up with tears. "It hurts, Spike. It hurts so much I don't know if I can stand it."

"You can, Rae. You've stood it for this long, yeah. And I'm here. Which means I'll take care of you, right pet? Promised to keep you safe, and I might have come up a bit short there, but I promise to keep you alive, kitten. And I promise to kill whoever, whatever, did this to you. That I'll swear to you."

She forced a smile. "That's why I called you. Knew you couldn't refuse a damsel in distress."

"I'm no bloody knight in shining armor. Though now that you mentioned it, I did vanquish a dragon tonight. Now the saving the lady bit. Maybe I'm a bit more cut out for this hero gig, than I thought."

She looked at him blankly.

"Sorry, pet, bit boastful is all. Not every day you slay one of those oversized iguanas. Walking, can you do it?"

"I don't know."

"We gotta try, pet. I just need to get you to my place. We'll get you patched up. See if a hospital visit is in order." It probably would be. A leg like that wasn't going to heal itself. But he figured bringing that up now probably wasn't going to help matters. He needed her mobile. He could carry her, of course. She was a such little thing, didn't weigh much, and he did have supernatural strength, after all. But he was afraid that it would look suspicious. Well, more suspicious than her hobbling along. At least if she had trouble walking she might just pass for drunk. Carrying her might look a bit less expected, a bit more sinister. He didn't want to draw any more attention to them than he had to. Not until he had sussed out whether or not she was going to need a trip to the ER. He was hoping that the leg wasn't as bad as it looked, but he was afraid it was. He knew he was just kidding himself. The girl was going to need to see a doctor.

She shook her head.

"I can't go there, Spike."

"You don't think you can walk, then?"

"I don't know. But I can't go there."

"Why the bloody hell not? You're bloody bleeding out a pretty serious hole in your leg, love. Not exactly the best time to start being picky about real estate."

She looked down at her hands. "It's not the real estate."

"What the fuck is it then?"

She looked down, refusing to meet his gaze. "I don't… I don't think I'd be very welcome."

"Why wouldn't you be welcome? What the bloody hell are you on about…" he stopped abruptly, suddenly, finally, realizing what she was getting at. What the bloody hell had he been thinking. He was a moron, and he definitely was not good at the whole planning thing. He couldn't just waltz home with his former. Buffy would fucking flip. But he didn't see what choice he had. "There's no where else to go, love."

"Brooklyn?"

"Too far," he looked down at his boots. "Don't want to risk it." She would know what it meant. He didn't have to sodding spell it out for her. "Don't want to risk you, okay."

He looked up again. Her eyes were glassy and blank. She was swaying a bit. Bloody fucking hell. He had wasted too much time. The fever and the pain were taking hold. Since he had gotten there she had relaxed just enough for the searing pain to reach her, overwhelm her.

"Rae?" he asked, unable to conceal his urgency, his concern. "Rae, you with me love."

She stopped swaying for a moment. She looked directly at him, her head snapping, her eyes, for a moment, clear and intense. "He said that they were here to collect me. He said that I was ripe and ready to bear their fruit. He said that it was my time."

And then she fainted.


	39. Blood

**Thanks so much to everyone who has subscribed to an alert for this story or has added it to their favorites. And a special thank you to everyone who has been so kind as to review this story. Reviews make my day, so thank you for taking the time to leave them. Enjoy. **

**New York 2009**

He caught her before she hit the ground. Thank god for those impeccable vampire reflexes. He didn't need her cracking her melon like a coconut on the bloody office floor. Not on top of everything else.

Besides if she had already lost enough blood that she was losing consciousness, girl could afford any other open wounds.

Fainting was not a good sign. William the Bloody knew a thing or two about the effects of exsanguination and this was definitely not good.

Of course, the fainting could also be from fear. Or the fever. At least that was oddly comforting.

Her body was hot, feverish, against his. And the smell of her blood was overwhelming. It was everywhere. Her leg, of course. But there was blood on her hands, probably from her attempts to slow the bleeding. And on smeared across her face and in her tangled curls. She had probably pushed a bit of hair out of her face, spreading the sodding stuff around. It was all too much for him in that sweltering, close, oppressive, little room. It was too temping. The demon in him was roaring for one little taste, one lick, one quick bite. Buffy would never have to know. It would be so easy, and it wouldn't even hurt Rae. All her blood was already out there. A bloody buffet, ripe for the taking. He could feel the bones in his face start to shift.

He shook his head, halting his transformation from man to demon. No. He needed to get out of here. And he needed Buffy. He had been a bloody fool to think that he could do this on his own. Should have known better. Things never panned out as he planned them. Something always went wrong. If he wasn't such a fucking moron, he'd have figured that out by now. And he wouldn't have left home without her.

"Guess, we out of options, love," he murmured as he shifted his hold on Rae. Her head lolled back, and he moved his grip to make sure he was supporting her correctly. Didn't want to do any more damage. She was cradled in his arms like a bleeding rag doll, limp and lifeless, except for her shallow breathing and the faint beating of her heart as it worked to circulate what blood was left in her veins.

So, he was pretty sure that Buffy wouldn't be happy about him waltzing into their apartment with his ex. He wondered how she would feel about him carrying Rae over the bleeding threshold like his bloody bride. Would likely earn him a tongue thrashing. But at this point he didn't have much in the way of options. He needed Buffy. There was no where else to go.

He was just going to have to trust his fate to Buffy's goodness. Not like he hadn't played this game before. It was a gamble he hadn't lost yet. For some reason, when it came to Buffy, the dice always seemed to be loaded in his favor, the decks stacked for him. At least of late. There had been plenty of times when she had been a right bitch to him. But she was there for him when it counted. He guessed he had the good old PTBs to thank for that. He just hoped they were the ace up his sleeve tonight.

* * *

><p>"Go away," Buffy mumbled. "Sleeping still." She rolled over to her other side, pulling the blankets over her head.<p>

"Now's no time to hang out the Do Not Disturb sign, love. Not here about the turn down service. We've got a problem, Buffy."

"Can't it wait till morning?" Buffy grumbled.

"Fraid not. By morning she could be dead."

Slowly Buffy sat up, rubbing her eyes. Good thing, she thought, that Slayers don't actually have to sleep. Still, she had been so tired from the exertions of the night. The slaying the dragon, and then the work out that had come later. Had come again and again and again. "And I'm guessing we don't want her dead."

"No, her dead would kinda be the problem, pet."

Her eyes finally focused on him. He was fully dressed, which was weird because she had gotten him pretty undressed almost as soon as they had gotten home. And, oh god, was that blood?

He must have seen her eyes widen. "Not mine. It's hers. You best get dressed, love."

"Whose?" Buffy inquired, wondering why he was being so sketchy about the whole thing. "What's going on?"

"Get dressed and I'll explain," and he left the bedroom, his coat doing that annoying wooshy thing.

Fuck. What the fuck was he up to, Buffy wondered as she pulled a black long sleeve tee over her head. She looked around for her underwear, but was totally unsuccessful. She actually had no idea where those might have ended up. Or if they were even in still one piece. So, she gave up and decided it would just be easier to grab a clean pair. Besides, Spike had seemed kinda big with the urgentness. She found a pair of grey sweats on the floor and pulled them on, before walking out of the bedroom.

What. The. Fuck.

"Please tell me that I'm not seeing what I think I'm seeing."

Spike sighed. "Really wish I could."

"Spike, you had better have a really really really good reason why your ex-girlfriend is sleeping on our couch."

"Listen, Buffy, I can explain." He paused, "Hey, how'd you know this is Rae?" he continued indignantly.

Buffy opened and closed her mouth a few times, but no words seemed to be coming out. "Lucky guess?'" she offered lamely, really more of a question than a statement. Okay, so he had caught her. She may have passed by Rae's office a few times, but it's not like she had been stalking or spying or doing anything crazy or creepy _per se_. She was just, well, curious. And that was really beside the point. "It doesn't matter, Spike. Just, why is she here?"

He walked over to the couch and gestured to the scarf thingy he had used to bandage her legs. It was already soaked with blood.

"Oh god," Buffy took a step back, her hand jerking up to cover her mouth. "What the hell happened to her?" She was no stranger to blood and violence. After all, she dealt in it almost every day. She had inflicted enough gruesome wounds and seen enough demon insides to last anyone a lifetime. But there was something about seeing a human injured that wigged her out majorly. Maybe it was some sort of Slayer safety devices, a sort of way to ensure that Slayers followed the rule about not hurting humans. But she doubted it. Faith didn't seem to have the same visceral disgust at hurting humans. She had actually, disturbingly, grown to kind of like it. At least until she had, with a little help from Angel, switched back to team Good Guys.

So, that meant it was probably just another Buffy Summers special. Maybe it had come from having to see so many of her friends injured. Maybe it had come from feeling like she failed, like she should have protected these people, but hadn't been able to.

"What the hell did that to her?" Whatever it was, it needed to be dead. Like now. And she had to kill it.

"Don't know. Hoping the bookish blokes could help us out with that later. Right now, we need to figure out what to do with bleeding beauty over there."

"She needs doctors, Spike, and probably blood. We have to take her to the hospital."

"We?"

She looked into his eyes. "Well, I'm not exactly thrilled about your ex bleeding all over my sofa, but she doesn't deserve to die for that. It wasn't that nice of a couch to begin with. And you and I are going to have major conversation about exactly how she got here. But that is so not important right now. What is important is making sure that she doesn't die."

"But, love, I know how you feel about hospitals. After your mum and everything…"

"I hate them. Always have. They smell like death and urine and grossness. But this girl is not going to die. Not if I can help it. It's my job to protect humanity. And lucky for you, this ex-girlfriend actually fits into that category. It's a duty thing. But it's also an I-love-you thing. Because I don't want to deal with you if something does happen to her. I've gotten over my broody boyfriend stage thank you very much."

Spike offered a silent prayer to the PTBs, thanks again, he thought, for making Buffy's goodness trump her bitchiness.

He gently touched her cheek. "I love you."

"I know. Which is why I am trusting you on this, Spike. But if I find out…"

"If you find out I've done any wrong by you, Buffy, you won't have a chance to stake me. I'll have dusted myself already. I don't hurt you, love. Not anymore."

"I know. We need to get her to the hospital."

"Right, so, going for a ride, then? Or you think we could drag her there? Hate all the flashy fanfare that comes with the bleeding meat wagon."

Buffy rolled her eyes, "So not the mental image I needed. Like at all."

* * *

><p>They opted for the ambulance. It seemed more realistic than walking her into the hospital. Most people would have majorly freaked to see a leg wound like Rae's, and for the rest of the night, Buffy and Spike were going to have to pretend that they were just like most people. Like they hadn't already taken way too many people to the emergency room because of supernatural run-ins that had ended badly. Had ended in bloody. Always way way too much blood.<p>

They road in the ambulance with Rae, while the EMTs interrogated them. Only doing their job, they knew, but when pretty much everything had to be lie, it felt a little interrogationy. Buffy and Spike had come up with a cover story while they had waited for the ambulance. Rae had been staying late on campus because she had just discovered a new source for her dissertation and had gotten way too into it, and had been so into her nerding out, that she had lost track of time. She had been on her way to crash at their place, but had not yet gotten off campus when she was bit by a dog. She couldn't give them a description of it, but from the bite marks, they figured it must be something big. Rae was Buffy's cousin and knew Spike from the department, and when the dog had torn out a chuck of her leg, she had called them. Spike had gotten her, and from there they had determined that she needed to go to the hospital.

It wasn't a great cover story. They never were. Spike just hoped that the paramedics wouldn't ask too many questions, wouldn't see the holes in their story which were as gaping as the wound in Rae's leg.

Luckily, the guy in the ambulance had been distracted with getting Rae stabilized. "A dog," he had repeated him, apparently that was the only part of the story to merit his attention. He pressed down on the radio in the ambulance, "Possible rabies infection, prep up a HRIG."

He then looked back to Buffy and Spike. "You're her cousin? Don't look a think alike." Buffy merely shrugged. "We've got her stabilized. After a blood transfusion we'll see about disinfecting and cleaning up and stitching up this wound. Knew there a lot of things to be worried about in this city, gotta say, dog attacks was not high up there."

Buffy didn't know if the man was talking so much because he was nervous or because he thought they might be. Either way, she wished he would just shut up. He didn't know half of the things there were to be worried about in this city. Or maybe he did. Maybe he had seen enough neck puncture wounds to figure it out. Maybe that's why he was nervous. Because he was realizing that whatever baddy had done this was probably a lot bigger and badder than your run of the mill Count Chocula. That when it came to things that went bump in the night, there was always something worse than everything you had seen before. You could never completely know evil. Whenever you thought you had figured it out, it threw something nastier, tougher, and often uglier at you.

Whatever it was that had hurt this girl, Buffy would find it and kill it. But there would always be something to take its place.

Which is why Slayer celebration parties never lasted too long. Which was why a Slayer couldn't take a vacation or put in for retirement. Because, no matter what you did, there was always more to be done.

It was a fact that Buffy had had to come to terms with. No matter how many times you saved the world, it would always need saving. At least now she had Spike with her in this fight.

She was more hurt than she had let on about his ex-girlfriend. She didn't like the idea of the other woman being in his life, conscious or not. And she still really really wanted to hear the whole story about how he had found her. There was something sketchy about the whole thing. And he had been so vague. So evasive. It worried her. But she trusted him, or was trying really really really hard to.

Besides, it was the least she could do for him. He had saved her friends enough times, that she had a major debt to repay. He had cared about her friends, because he loved her. Because he knew that it would hurt her if they were hurt.

And as much as she hated it, as much as it made her stomach all gurgally, it was clear that he still cared for Rae. He had chosen his Slayer, this Buffy knew, but he still had some feelings for this other girl. That was clear every time he looked at her. The worry. The guilt. He clearly cared about her. Which meant that Buffy cared about saving her. For him.

* * *

><p>"What the bloody hell do you think you're doing? Hasn't she lost enough of the soddening stuff. Doesn't need you pokin and proddin and taking what's left."<p>

They had made it to the hospital ER, where the staff had moved Rae to one of the hospital beds. The room was partitioned by curtains, which were ostensibly there to give patients privacy, but only managed to make things claustrophobic. The nurses had checked out Rae, who was still unconscious. They had decided Rae needed blood first and foremost, which "Any twit could see," Spike muttered, "don't need a bloody degree to know that."

Then the phlebotomist had come over to draw a blood sample, and Spike had lost it. The poor woman had looked visibly upset, and Buffy had placed her hand on his arm, simultaneously comforting and warning him against doing anything stupid or rash.

"Just need to check her blood type before we administer the transfusion. We want to make sure that we are giving her blood that will help her, not hurt her," the woman also soothed. She was probably used to dealing with irate family members. Just probably not ones that were so… scary.

Spike might be all soul having now. But he still had the big bad attitude. And when he needed too, he could be totally terrifying.

Things moved too slowly in the ER. Buffy could hardly stand it. For a room of emergencies, there was a conspicuous lack of urgency.

Finally the doctor came back over. He looked concerned. So not a good sign. "I'm afraid we have a bit of a setback," he said briskly.

"What kind of a setback," Spike growled.

"Does your friend engage in any naracotic activity?"

"She tokes a bit of bud every once in a while."

"Anything else?"

"Know she's dropped some acid and shrooms in the past. Don't know if she has done any lately."

"No," the doctor shook his head. "I don't believe that marijuana and any other psychoactive, psychedelic drugs could possibly have this kind of effect," he said almost to himself. "Has she been doing any steroids?"

Spike laughed sharply, "Does she look like she's been juicing, doc?" The doctor sighed, and reluctantly shook his head. "Now what the bloody hells the problem? Why haven't you blokes gotten this bird some blood?" His voice was soft, but full of menace.

"Well, you see," replied he doctor said nervously, "that's the problem. It's her blood. The lab results are showing some irregularities."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Spike demanded.

"Well, uh, you see…" the doctor fumbled.

"Out with it man," snarled Spike.

"Uh. It's like nothing I've ever seen before. I can't believe I am saying this, but, uh, it doesn't seem, well, entirely human."


	40. Impasses

**Thanks again to everyone who has added this story to their alerts, favorites, or has taken the time to review it. I really do appreciate all of the positive feedback. Because we are entering the busiest and most frantic point in the semester, it may be some time before my next update. But I have not, nor do I plan to, abandon this story. There are just papers to grade and books to read and research to do before any more Spuffy fun. Anyway, I do hope you enjoy (and I apologize about the cliffhanger. Again. I don't seem to be able to help myself). **

**New York 2009**

"Come again, doc," Spike growled.

"Her bl-blood," the doctor stammered, clearly shaken, "it doesn't appear to be human. Well, not like any of the human blood ever analyzed. The counts are all off. The antigens are unknown. To be honest, it's not like any animal blood either. Honestly, it's like nothing I've ever encountered."

"What the bloody hell is that supposed to mean?" Spike roared, his eyes flashing.

At the same time, Buffy, suddenly pale murmured, "Not human?" he questioning eyes on Spike.

"Listen," he doctor replied frankly, "we ran the tests for blood type. Standard procedure, you understand. But she doesn't seem to have one. Not a human one anyway. Also, not primate, bovine, equine, or canine for that matter."

"Does she look like a fucking cow or dog to you doc? She's a bloody person."

"No one is conjecturing that she is not human. But there appears to have been some kind of mutation in her blood. And I'm afraid that is going to make transfusion, well, er, difficult."

"Why's that doc? You blokes have to have some of that o neg back there, yeah," Spike tone was casual, but there was a hard, steely, threatening edge to it. Buffy gave him a look, as if to remind him that he was not ordering a pint at Willy's. And that he better not get into a fucking barroom brawl with this doctor.

"We've tried that, Mr. er," he glanced down at Rae's chart, "Pratt. But no matter what type we try, it's the same thing. Her blood is rejecting it. As soon as we introduce the donor blood, her cells attack it. As things stand right now, we can't give her any blood. It could kill her. For the moment we seem to be a medical impasse. But rest assured, we are doing all we can," the doctor concluded hastily, nervously eying Spike.

"But if you don't replace some of the blood she's lost girl's likely to die." Spike glared at the doctor.

"Like I said, we're at an impasse," the doctor gulped.

"So, what does that mean for the bird here?" Spike's tone was hard, his eyes flashing.

"We doing the best we can. We are trying some different blood types, different combination, but I'm afraid it's mostly conjecture and trial and error at this point."

"I would suggest you and your lads start trying a little harder and erroring a little bit less, yeah. If this girl dies, I swear I'll rip your head off and drink from your neck like a chalice. Then we'll see what you know about bleeding blood types."

"This is no time for threats, Mr. Pratt," the doctor replied firmly, refusing to look at Spike. "No one in this hospital wants to see this young woman die. And I can assure you we are trying our hardest. Now, is there any information you can provide that might be helpful in determining the cause of this blood abnormality? Did she grow up by any nuclear power plants or ever come into contact with any radioactive material?"

"Not that I know of. Unless you count the time she got nibbled on by that spider. Nasty bugger he was," Spike replied dryly.

"Now is not the time for jokes, Mr. Pratt."

"No, Doc. She grew up in the middle of no where. Out in the bleeding Rockies. Pure as mountain snow and far away from all of that industrial smut and smog. And she never mentioned playing with any glowy green rocks or any rubbish like that. Don't know a thing more about it," he answered expressionlessly.

"Fine. I will let you know if there are any changes in her, er, condition."

"Damn right you will," Spike muttered, low enough for only Buffy to hear. She placed her hand on his knee and shot him a warning look.

"Thank you, doctor," she smiled wearily at the man.

He returned her smile, relieved to be able to talk to someone other than the snarling Spike. "Let me assure you again, we are doing everything in our power…" he offered her another tight lipped grin, which actually seemed more like a grimace than anything else, before turning to walk away.

"What a nimrod. What bloody kind of hospital is this?" Spike growled. "Can't even manage a bloody blood transfusion."

Buffy glared at him. "You are the biggest idiot I have ever met."

"Why, what did I do?"

"First of all, you don't go all grrrr on the person who is trying to save your friend's life."

Spike looked at her innocently. "What? That? Just trying to give the bloke a little motivation. Totally harmless."

"Well, you sounded majorly like a psychopath. You're lucky we didn't get kicked out of here. So, enough with the head ripping and the blood drinking threats. You are supposed to be undercover as human, remember."

"Under the covers I'll be whatever you want, love," he smirked. "You know that."

"So, not in the mood for that right now," Buffy said flatly, giving him a meaningful look.

"Listen, if this is about my rescuing her, you said yourself…"

"I said, 'I protect humanity.' That's my job description. I protect humans from the forces of darkness," she said, her voice firm.

"Know the tune, love. One girl in all the world, and all that. She alone battles the beasties, blah blah blah. That is, until you decided to make with the mojo and mix things up. Got it love. Been dealing with Slayers before your grandmother was born."

"Humanity, Spike."

"Got that bit," he titled his head at her. "What are you getting at?"

"She is not human."

"Course she is. You heard what the doctor said."

Her eyes bore into his. "Do you think the doctor knows what we know?"

"Doubt he's out fighting demons every night. Would stain up that nice white coat of his."

"Yeah, I didn't think so either. Which means that he doesn't have a clue what kind of very nasty things come wrapped in pretty human packages. And then they pop out and it's all with the grrrr and the argh and the 'Surprise! Evil!' I've seen this before."

He looked at her, his eyes suddenly cold. "No, you haven't. Rae is not like that."

"Then what is she like? Because survey pretty much screams demon."

His voice caught, and he quickly cleared his throat. "She is not evil."

"How can you possibly know that? She didn't bother to tell you that she was demon. Even after she knew what you are. She hid that from you. She could have been hiding anything."

He shook his head, refusing to meet her eyes. "She is not evil," he repeated stubbornly.

"How can you possibly know?" she demanded.

"Because I know evil, Buffy. I've known it. I've lived it. I've reveled in it. I've even loved it. And I learned it from one of the best. I spent over a hundred years practicing, yeah. I breathed it when I didn't need oxygen. I feasted on it when I didn't need food. And I drank it in when drained the life away from men, women, and children. Vampire, right? Seen a bit of evil in my day and I pick up a bit about it. I know evil, pet. And I also know that this girl isn't it."

"Yeah, well, I know a thing or two about evil, too, Spike. Slayer remember. Evil and I might not be as intimately acquainted as you are," she said harshly, "but I know it when I see it."

"Right. Like pornography. And you think you see it now, do you?"

"Yeah, I do. I mean, maybe she wasn't always evil. Maybe whatever bit her turned her into an evil something. That could happen right? Happened to you," she tried to reason with him. Stupid stubborn vampire. At least Xander never gave her this hard of a time when he found out that his date was a demon. He was usually just grateful that she had saved his life. Again.

"It's a bit more complicated than that." But still, she had a point. He inhaled deeply, a bit reluctantly. "No. Impossible. She smells exactly the same. It's her. Same person, same smell. Don't turn into a beasty without a bit of a change in the b.o."

"Really? That's it. You smell her? That's the new litmus test for demoness?" 

"If there was some sort of change in her, I would smell it. Demons give off all sorts of nasty pheromones. Part of their charm."

"This isn't an evil scratch and sniff, Spike."

"Not saying it is. Just saying there would be some sign that she turned. And I don't smell it. Don't happen to see it either."

"I don't believe it. I can't. I just can't see how that's enough to convince you."

"Because I'm not choosing to be bloody blind, Slayer."

She shook her head, her eyes flashing. "No, Spike, you are blind. You were two busy fucking her to realize what she is. If you were able to think with your brain instead of your dick for once, you might have been able to realize that you were diddling a demon."

Spike grinned and chuckled. "Oh, is that what this is about then? The green eyed monster bit again? You're still jealous. You can't get over the fact that I had someone. That I didn't just spend the past six years pining away after you." He checked his tone, softening his voice, and reaching out his hand to cover hers. "I thought we were past all this rubbish, love."

She jerked her hand away. "God, you are such an arrogant pig. Did you totally forget that I came here with you to help your ex-girlfriend? Your human ex-girlfriend. I'm sorry if I'm not on board with saving the life of your demon lover. It just seems like a waste of time and energy, since I'll just have to kill her anyway. Seems more efficient to just let her die here."

"She is not dying," Spike growled.

Buffy shrugged, "Then I guess I'll have to kill her." 

"What the hell has gotten into you?"

"Duty, Spike."

"Don't give me that, Buffy. I know you better than that."

"Do you?"

"Yeah, I do. And I know you well enough to know that you're not about to off some innocent girl just because she has got a bit of funky blood, demon or otherwise, in her. That's just not who you are, love."

"She is not innocent, Spike. She is a demon."

He looked at her sternly. "You sound like the bleeding soldier boy. Toeing the company line and all that. Things aren't that simple, and you know it. The world isn't black and white. Demons bad, people good. That's a load of Council crap and Initiative garbage and you know it, and I also know you didn't buy into it, else Anya, Angel, Oz, Clem, and yours bloody truly wouldn't be here, yeah. You would have offed the likes of us long ago."

"That's different."

"Not really, Slayer. You can make up all of the excuses or bleeding rationale you want, but you know it's not true. Wish things were that clear, but clearly they're not. Case in bloody point," he gestured toward her.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Buffy hissed.

He looked at her expressionless, and she shivered, surprised by the lack of warmth in his eyes. God, even when they fought, his eyes usually had some kind of fire. But now, nothing, and this complete absence of any heat, any emotion whatsoever terrified her.

He held her gaze, his face, his eyes blank. "You're supposed to be the good guy," he said, his tone eerily even, distant.

"I am," she said, her words barely audible. "I am the good guy. I've always been." She felt like he had just punched her in the stomach. The air forced from her lungs, leaving her gasping for breath.

"Are you? Doesn't sound that way to me, Buffy. The good guy don't usually go around killing innocent, injured girls." He shrugged, "But, then again. I haven't been playing on the home team for all that long, yeah. Maybe I just don't understand how the whole good thing works, how you blokes operate."

"She is not an innocent girl," Buffy managed. But her voice had lost much of its conviction. To be accused of this by Spike. To be challenged by him like this. Spike was supposed to support her. Back her up. Believe in her. He wasn't supposed to talk to her like this. And she wasn't supposed to be a little bit convinced he might be right.

"We don't know what she is," Spike rejoined. "And I'm asking you not to get too stake happy until we do."

"And if I do?"

She saw the muscle in his jaw tightened. "I promised her I would protect her, Buffy," he said evenly.

"From me?"

"Didn't get that specific, love. But I won't let any harm come to her. Made her a promise, I did."

Buffy felt her heart plummet. "You still love her," she gasped. She couldn't breath. "You do. And I thought…" God, how could she have been so stupid. Not to have known. But she had known, hadn't she. At least suspected. After all, he must have been with her tonight. He must have left their bed to be with the other woman. Again… It was just like...

But not. No, she trusted him, didn't she. He was Spike. Loyal to a fault. He wouldn't would he? No, it was impossible. Except for the little part of her that was afraid that it wasn't. Which was where all the jealousy had come from. Which was why she had practically jumped at the chance to kill her. Not because the girl was a demon, but because she was competition. Competition which Buffy was still not certain she would win. Less certain even, after this little performance. God, she must look like such a psycho. A little sob escaped her throat.

His eyes softened. "No. Buffy. It's not… you know… I don't love her, not like that, not like you. But I can't let you kill her. Not because I love her, pet. But because I love you. Can't let you do it. Can't lose you like that."

And then she understood. He wasn't protecting Rae. Well, he was. But not really. Not only Rae. He was protecting her too. He was protecting her from herself. From doing something that she would regret. That would make her less human. God, her own demons were the problem, not the one unconscious in the hospital bed. She felt the tears welling up in her eyes. He was protecting her from her fears and her jealousy and he was saving her again.

"Spike… I…" she began, but her words were cut off suddenly by the low moan and the rustling of sheets coming from the bed.


	41. Impossible

**I had a bit of a reprieve between my classes ending and getting the last round of papers from my students dumped on me, so I had a some time to spend with this story. Thank you so much to everyone who has written a review, added this story to their favorites, and/or subscribed to an alert.**

**New York **

"Where am I?" They heard a groggy voice coming from hospital bed. Rae's eyes were open, unfocused, confused, and wildly scanning the room.

Spike was at her side in an instant. "S'Ok, love. You're safe."

"Where…" she started again, but her gaze was clearer, more alert, taking everything in.

"Brought you to hospital, kitten," Spike confirmed. "You passed out. Thought you might need a bit of professional, you know, help. Not that they've done you any good."

She weakly lifted her hand to take his in hers, smiling slightly. "Thanks for not leaving me."

"Wouldn't dream of it, love. Made you a promise." His eyes flickered to Buffy.

Rae followed his glance, her eyes widening; her face, already pale from loss of blood, paler. "Oh," she breathed, pulling her hand quickly away from Spike's. A faint blush flared up her cheeks, and she looked down. "I'm sorry… I… I didn't mean…" she mumbled, refusing to meet anyone's gaze.

Buffy approached the bed, her eyes fixed on the other woman, demon, thingy. What kind of game was she playing? What was with the helpless damsel routine? God, it was irritating. Buffy had like no tolerance for weak women. She didn't much like the ones who could beat her up either, but there was something about the feeble ones that really bothered her. She knew that not every girl could have slayer strength, but was a bit of spine too much to ask for?

"What are you?" Buffy demanded, unable to keep the harsh edge from her voice. Okay, so she would play by Spike's rules. She wouldn't kill her, it, yet. But she wasn't going to wait to find out exactly what she was dealing with.

"Buffy don't…" Spike said, his eyes pleading. "She's been through enough torment for one day. Does need the third bloody degree, yeah. Leave off her. We'll suss this all out later."

"No. Now." Buffy insisted.

Rae's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?" Her expression alarmed and questioning, her gaze shifting from Buffy to Spike, clearly in search of an answer.

"You're not human. So, what kind of demon are you?" Buffy responded stonily, her eyes boring Rae, refusing to meet Spike's imploring look. It was easier to stay focused on Rae, to not get distracted by Spike's over-protective pleading. She wouldn't be doing anyone any favors by just letting it go. They needed to figure this thing out.

Rae shook her head, bewilderment and disbelief clouding her features. "What? No? I'm not. I'm human. Just a girl. I swear. I don't know what they were talking about…"

"Who? Who were talking about what, love?" Spike said softly to Rae, shooting a warning glance in Buffy's direction. "What got to you, pet?"

Fear flitted across her face, but she shook her head. "No. Tell me. What does she mean? I'm n-not human?" her strained voice quivered.

"Course you are, kitten."

Buffy crossed her arms in front of her chest, glaring at Spike, and trying not to feel bad for the frightened girl in front of her. No, not girl, thing, demony thing. Still, she was a scared pathetic demony thing. The girl was, honestly, a pretty poor excuse for a demon. Sniveling and pathetic. What did she have to be afraid of? Except Buffy, of course.

Except that she really didn't seem scared of Buffy. She seemed scared of whatever had tore a hole in her leg. Which made Buffy nervous. Because Rae was a demon, which meant must have some sort of power or something. Demons did. It was kinda their thing. Part of what made them so annoying. All of those supernatural powers which made them that much harder to kill. The super strength, the retractable claws, and the nasty mucusy thing some of them did. So, whatever had done this to her must have been big and way bad and pretty fucking big with the nastiness. Which made killing it even more important. If the thing had done that to a demon, things weren't looking so good for the humans.

Unless this whole sniveling, pathetic cry baby routine was an act. Meant to keep them off their guard. It had certainly taken Spike in. Shit, he was the one handing her the Kleenex.

Or, unless she really hadn't know. Had really believed that she was a human, normal, and had suddenly, cruelly learned that she was not. Maybe she was really dealing with the existential shock along with the physical pain.

And suddenly, Buffy wasn't with the vampire she loved and the woman, or thing, that she jealously distrusted. She was back in L.A., sunning herself on the steps of her high school, being approached by a stoggy, stuffy-looking man in a hideous suit, being suddenly and cruelly told that she wasn't normal. Of course, she hadn't believed the man, not at first. Vampires didn't exist, everybody knew that. She had dismissed him as insane or a pervert or both. And then he had showed her the truth, and she learned about the things that nobody knew, and she had been so afraid.

And Rae already knew about the things that nobody knew, which meant that for her denial was, well, denied, and she must already know or at least suspect that it is all true. That she really wasn't who she had always thought she was. That she wasn't normal.

So, Buffy couldn't fault her, really, for being a little over dramatic about the whole thing. After all, wasn't Buffy kinda the queen of supernatural drama.

And at least Rae hadn't gone all suicide girl like Dawn. Except that Dawn really was human. Maybe not always human, but human enough now. It was her blood, her human blood, Buffy's blood, that had allowed the Slayer to save her little sister. It always had to be blood. Spike had said that. Because blood was the key. Because blood was everything.

Except that it probably wasn't. Blood ran deep, but it wasn't everything. It had made Dawn her sister, but it hadn't made her love her, die for her. That was something deeper. Deeper than blood. If Dawn had turned out to be nonhuman somehow, instead of just an annoying teenage girl, Buffy would have loved her, and probably still would have flung herself off of that tower to save her. Because blood only went so deep. Love went deeper.

Her love for Spike had to go deeper than Rae's blood.

Whatever it was.

They were stronger than that, she reminded herself. They had survived demons and hell gods and nerds and the end of the world. A couple of ends of the world, actually. So they could survive this. They would survive this. Because she refused to lose him again. She had lost him too many times already. Once to her own stubborn insistence that he was a monster. And again because of his stubborn insistence that he had to die to save the world, to save her. She would not lose him again. Not after she had just gotten him again.

She realized that Spike and Rae were both looking at her intently, he concerned, she confused, afraid. She also realized that she was biting her lower lip, her gaze intent on the floor. Okay, fine, Spike was right. She had been a bit over-reactiony.

God, it was so annoying when he was right. Although he would never admit it, he was getting to be as righteous as she was. Well, maybe not quite as righteous as she was. But. Still. Right.

When she looked up she kept her eyes steadily on Spike. It was too hard to look at Rae. "Okay, I know I may have gone a bit overboard," he arched an eyebrow, "Okay, a lot overboard with the Bitchy Buffy." He shrugged, incline his head toward Rae, indicating that Buffy should be apologizing to the other woman, not him. She took a deep breath and faced the other woman. "I know I freaked. And now your freaking. Which is fine. I guess we'll have to just stop with the freakingness and figure this all out."

It was so annoying how much better the smile he flashed her way made her feel.

"You're in good hands, love," Spike was saying to Rae, trying to reassure her. "Buffy and her gang. It's what they do. Figure things out. Solve mysteries. Save the fucking day, yeah. The bloody Scoobies."

"Scoobies?" Rae asked skeptically.

"Yeah, you know. The meddlesome kids and their stupid dog." He looked at Buffy, "Guess the whelp would be the oversized pup, yeah?" Buffy attempted a scowl, which melted too quickly into a grin. "Solving mysteries, saving the day. Although, for them the monsters are all too real. No thieves in bad costumes with cheesey special effects for this gang. And there are definitely no clambakes to take the edge off."

"But, the Scoobies?" Rae repeated. "I don't know. I just don't see how that strikes fear into the heart of darkness."

Spike smirked. "Yeah, I never cared for it either," he shrugged. "That's why I never really joined their little club."

Buffy raised her eyebrows. "Are you sure it wasn't really because they wouldn't let you in."

"Right, 'No Spikes allowed' and all that. Well, they are a lot of do-gooder poofters. But they do have an annoying habit of actually saving the day."

"Uh-huh. And you never got on board with that," Buffy responded sarcastically. "You are such a hypocritical good guy, you know that. You're as bad as Angel with the whole damsel in distress thing, and I swear, sometimes you'rw even bigger with the nobility than he is. But half the time you walk around pretending like you're still some bad ass vampire. I mean you still kick ass and somehow you still manage to rock that tragic bad boy look, but you're one of us baby, whether you like it or not." God, she loved and hated how he could do that. How he could banter with her in a way that made her forget not only the fight that they had just had, but the fact that there was anything wrong at all.

"Oi! Come on now. I've got no where near the hero complex our boy Angel does. And I still am bad ass. Come on Rae, back me up here."

"No can do, Spike." Rae offered meekly. "You do like to be the knight in shining armor. Okay, so the armor is kinda metaphorical and the look's not exactly traditional for a white hat, what with all of the black and the leather and the bleach, but you're pretty much a consummate good guy."

She glanced up briefly, and Buffy caught her eye, a small smile on her lips. Oh fuck, Buffy thought, realizing that she might actually be able to get along with this woman. She doubted that they would ever be bffs. And she still didn't trust her at all, or really even like her. But she could. The potential was there, and that seriously disturbed her.

And she could definitely see what Spike saw in this woman. And that totally terrified her. Because despite what Spike had said, there was a serious chance that Buffy was going to have to kill her. And it was way easier to kill someone who you couldn't relate to.

"So, what do we do from here," Buffy said, in her lets-get-back-to-business voice, the one she used to rally the troops and keep Xander in line. No more banter. There wasn't time. And, if Buffy was being totally honest with herself, she did not actually want to like the other woman. So the less with chit-chattiness the better.

"Well whatever we're going to do, I reckon we better suss it out. And fast. Sawbones is heading our way."

The doctor was walking briskly in their direction. He was momentarily distracted by a nurse asking him a question. His answer was curt. Spike could hear the tones of annoyance and impatience in his voice. Great, so the M.D. was on a bloody mission. "Bollocks," Spike swore as the man approached.

"Well. We have not made any progress with our testing of your friend's blood," the doctor began, without bothering to glance at the bed. "But at this point we have decided that we have no choice but to attend to her injuries. I would have liked to have performed a blood transfusion first, as a precautionary measure in case she loses any additional blood during the cleaning and the closing. But that doesn't seem to be an option, and the bite wound need too be attended to. We've been administering antibiotics through her IV drip, but we need to get that injury cleaned to ensure against any risk of infection, and I want to get her stitched up to prevent any more blood loss…"

Spike looked blankly at the man. "Uh, doc," he gestured toward the bed.

The vampire smirked as the doctor looked toward Rae, his jaw actually dropping. "This… this is impossible… The amount of blood you said she's lost. There is no way that she should have regained consciousness."

"Well, she did," Spike responded, deadpan.

"But that's…" the doctor began.

"Impossible. Yeah we get it doc. What are you going to do for her?"

By this point the M.D. had regained some of his composure. "Well," he said. "At least this is a good sign. A very good sign. How are you feeling?" he asked Rae.

"Let's just say not exactly my best day ever. What with the attack," she stole a quick glance at Spike, hoping her description had been vague enough not to contradict whatever lie Buffy and Spike had told the hospital staff. He nodded slightly, reassuring her. "And the passing out and the hospital. I'm actually going to have to go with pretty shitty."

"Yes. Well, er, that is understandable," the doctor fumbled. "I meant your pain. How would you rate it on a scale of one to ten? Ten being high." 

"I think this one goes to eleven."

Spike chuckled, glad to see that the girl had gotten a better hold on herself. He eyed Buffy in his periphery; she was looking at Rae approvingly.

So, the girl might be a wimp when it came to other demons, Buffy thought, but at least she could hold her own against that pompous ass of a doctor. And at least that was something. Maybe she had underestimated this woman.

"I'll have the nurse administer some more pain medications to help with the, er, pain," the doctor responded. "I'd like to take a look at your leg, now that you're conscious, to determine our best course of action. Now, first I'm going to tighten this tourniquet a bit, to prevent blood flow to the wound and to help slow any bleeding." He adjusted the latex band around her thigh. She winced with the pain. "Does that hurt?" he asked.

"God damn moron," Buffy heard Spike mutter, not loud enough for the doctor to hear, "course it bloody hurt her. Where the bloody hell did this berk get his bleeding medical degree from? That's what I would bloody like to know. He's got the bedside manner of a fucking Fyarl demon." Buffy put her hand on his arm to quiet him.

"Yeah. Well that entire area is pretty serious with the hurt," Rae winced.

"Yes, well. We'll get you some meds." He began unwinding the bandages that had been wrapped around her wound. The outer ones were still white, so at least there hadn't been enough blood to seep that far, but after the first few layers were removed, the bandages were red with blood.

Buffy grabbed Spike's hand. Not wanting to see the gaping wound in the woman's leg. She had seen enough of it to be disturbed for a very long time. And she could almost feel the other woman's pain. Her short intakes of breath. Her quiet little moans. The way that her hands were balled up into fists, as if she could somehow fight off the hurt.

Buffy looked away. It was too much. She knew that she was being a baby. That she had seen much worse. Had done much worse. She had come home covered in demon guts and slime and god knows what else. She had seen the insides of countless demons. But she didn't want to see the insides of a person. Not again. Not even if it was only muscley insides, not organy insides.

"Uh, Buffy," Spike said, an uncertain note in his voice making her kinda nervous. Spike's eyes were fixed on the bed. On Rae's leg. On the wound. Wait. The wound that wasn't. Where there had been a gaping wound there was only a crescent shaped cut. Not even too deep, Buffy guessed from the look of it.

"The poison's out," Spike muttered. He could smell the brackish, acidic taint on the bandages, but her blood smelled sweet, pure, definitely not festering. He body must have pushed the poison, he thought in disbelief.

The doctor looked up equally bewildered. "This is…" he began.

"Impossible," Spike and Buffy finished in unison.


	42. Welcome to Our World

**New York 2009**

"Yeah. We get it. It's impossible. It's all impossible. Let me tell you, mate, you're preaching to the bloody choir."

The doctor looked from Spike to Buffy to Rae then back to Spike, his eyes growing wider. "What the hell are you people?" he asked, worry and wonder written across his face.

"There was a time, doc, when I would tell you that we are your worst nightmare. But seeing as how that time has passed, and the line's a bit over done, trite, you know, I'll just tell you that we are none of your fucking business."

"But she's," the doctor let his gaze linger over Rae, before whipping his head around to look at Spike, "you're, you're all are medical miracles."

"Really not," said Buffy calmly, not trusting Spike to diffuse the situation. Her vampire lover was many things. Level headed and even tempered was not one of them. Not that she was exactly the model of restraint, but she didn't need Spike growling or going all fangy. Besides he seriously sucked at lying. That was definitely not going to help the situation. "We're just, you know, normal people. Nothing miraculous here. Zero miraculousness." She paused, "Maybe it had something to do with growing up in Colorado. Over fluorinate their water or something, part of the hippie communist plot to take over America."

The doctor was shaking his head, clearly not convinced. "No. I saw her blood. That was not from a little fluoride. You guys, you're like the X-Men or something."

"Giving me a fucking break, doc. We're not bleeding comic book characters. Do you have any idea how bloody ridiculous you sound, going on like this. You're a man of science, right, you should know better than this." He paused. "And I was fucking with you about the bloody spider too," he added, as an afterthought.

"No. You're not fooling anyone. Not fooling me. Not anymore. Yes, I am a man of science, and I've seen the science. And I see what you all must be. You're mutants or monsters or miracles or something."

"And I see you're completely off your rocker, mate. Can't believe that out of all of the sodding surgeons in this place, we got stuck with Doctor Who," Spike said, his voice surly, sarcastic, but edged with something darker than just snark.

"You know," the doctor continued, conspiratorially. "When I was in med school, I heard things. About government organizations interested in the occult. In demons and monsters. I didn't believe it, but they recruited a couple of the guys I was interning with. They never confirmed anything, of course. It was all highly classified. But there were rumors."

Rae, catching the drift, rolled her eyes. "Well, that seems like serious waste of tax payer dollars. No wonder our deficient is out of control."

"Right," Buffy added. "I guess there are also government organizations interested in chasing wild geese. Hunting down Bigfoot. Discovering the chupacabra. Experimenting on little green men and stuff. Those things aren't anything more than urban legend and crazy conspiracies. They just aren't real."

"Yeah doc, how many all nighters were you pulling? You know, there is a psych ward somewhere in this bloody hospital. Maybe you ought to go get yourself checked out, yeah?"

"I saw her blood and her leg," the doctor hissed. "You all might be lying, but the microscope doesn't lie. My own two eyes don't lie. I know she isn't human. It is scientifically impossible for her to be human. And I think the two of your know what she is, which leads me to believe that you're human either."

"What the fuck happened to 'no one is conjecturing that she is not human?'" Spike mocked the surgeon.

"That was before."

Spike growled, "Before what?"

"Before her leg fucking stitched itself together is what. I have never, in all my years studying and practicing, have seen something like that. That goes beyond the bounds of everything we thought possible."

"Sounds like you made a wrong turn into the Twilight Zone, doc."

The doctor was about to retort when Buffy was cut in. Clearly the mocking was not really working. Time to try another tactic. She caught Spike's eye, and tilted her head slightly. He nodded. God, she hoped he knew what she was thinking. Because if he did, then had a plan. If he didn't, then they didn't have shit.

"Alright. Alright. Just calm down a bit, sir," Buff was saying in a soothing voice. "I don't know what you think you saw…"

"I saw it. I know I did," the doctor said, his voice querulous and pinched.

"I don't doubt that you think you saw something," Buffy rounded him, so that he was facing her and Rae. Spike slipped behind him, and began quietly pulling the curtain dividing Rae's bed from the rest of the hospital closed. "I mean. Who hasn't thought that they heard something or seen something. There must be some reason why all of those stories exist, right?"

Rae was nodding. "Yeah, I mean the truth is out there. It's got to be."

"Yeah. It's got to be," Buffy interjected.

"And Roswell. Area 51. Who knows what really happened there," Rae continued.

The doctor was nodding in agreement.

"But not us," Buffy said firmly, using her Slayer voice, her you-seriously-want-to-rethink-fucking-with-me-and/or-my-boyfriend-and/or-my-friends tone. The one that did make evil things rethink that choice and seriously regret that they had made the wrong one. There was a power in that voice that frightened Rae and terrified the doctor. "We're not the ones you are looking for," Buffy continued. "We never were."

"What are you? Are you like a warrior princess, or something," the doctor marveled, obviously in awe of the woman in front of him. The beautiful woman who had become a fierce warrior just by changing the tone of her voice. She couldn't be human. It was impossible. She was the stuff of myth and legend.

"No. I'm Buffy," she responded simply. God, this man was a geek.

The doctor opened his mouth to ask another question, to demand a real answer from her. But he never got the chance. One of Spike's arms flashed around the doctor's neck, the other pressed against his back, effectively capturing the man in a stranglehold. It was less than a second before the doctor's eyes rolled up in his head, and he passed out. By the time he had realized what was happening to him, it had been too late for him to cry out. Only a slight, breathy moan escaped his lips, camouflaged by the sounds of pain all around them.

"Is he…" Rae gasped, wide-eyed and afraid.

Buffy shook her head. "He'll be out for a while. But he is breathing. He might seriously want to considered turtlenecks for the next week or so, but he'll survive." She looked at Spike, a hint of a grin on her lips. "Took you long enough. Didn't think we were going to have to stall for that long."

"You knew? How?" Rae's eyes were wide in amazement. She had played along. But she hadn't realized the plan. Not by a long shot.

"When you've danced together for as long as Spike and I have, you just kind of know." This time she didn't even try to hide her smile.

"Figured you'd suss out the game plan quick enough."

"'Suss out the game plan'? I sussed the plan to begin with. I told you what to do. With my eyes."

A sudden look of annoyance passed over Spike's features. "Can't tell a bloke what to do with your eyes. It's bloody unlikely, it is. Eye communication. The kind of bollocks you hero types try to sell. Bugger that."

"What are exactly are you talking about?

"Nothing. Just… something Angel said once. But it's nothing. Not important. Only three percent of what the great poof sputters off really is," Buffy was looking at him, clearly confused and concerned about his current tangent. "I gotta say, though, didn't think that the quack would crack up like that."

"I wouldn't say he cracked, so much as he finally put some things together," Rae said quietly.

"Right you are, pet, but he would do well to forget it. The faster the better, too. Doc starts sniffing around the nastier bits of this our magic world and he's likely to end up far worse than we'll leave him. Speaking of which, I'd say it's about time we got lost, yeah?"

"Yeah, I would say it's about time to make with the skedaddling," Buffy confirmed. "It's only a matter of time until they found out Clooney over here has gone missing."

"God, I wish it had been Clooney," the two women shared a smile. "Did you really have to strangle him?"

"He was asking way too many questions," Buffy said curtly. "The less he knows about our world the safer he'll be," she continued in a gentler tone, pretending not to notice the way that Rae shuddered at Buffy's pronoun choice.

Our. So it was her world too. And she had thought that she had only been visiting the years that she had spent with Spike, that once he was gone his world would go with him. She would always know what was out there, and she would never walk alone at night without something serious pointy and preferably wooden, but she wouldn't be living it. Not like she had. Not like she was. She hadn't been visiting after all, because it seemed like a special plot of darkness had already been mortgaged in her name.

"Besides," Spike interrupted her thoughts. "Last time a bloke in a white coat took that kind of interest in me I wound up with a chip in my head."

"Not to mention the one on your shoulder."

"Well, I don't exactly fancy playing the part of lab rat for a couple of mad scientists again. Wonder if they've gotten their sterilized hands on a Slayer before."

"So not into playing doctor with a couple of antideomonologist." Buffy looked at Rae, "Do you think you can walk."

"Hobble. Maybe."

"Good enough. As long as you are at least slightly mobile we can deal. Now, can you get that IV out on your own, or do you need some help?"

"I think I can manage," she screwed up her eyes, bit her lower lip. She paused. "I think I'm going to need a Band-Aid or a cotton ball and some gauze or something. There will be blood."

"Seems like there always is. I'll get it. Spike, you start rebandaging her leg. We'll look a bit less conspicuous leaving if we keep the open wounds to a minimum." Buffy slipped out onto the main room of the ER, returning a minute later with a Band-Aid and a cotton ball. Spike had just about finished her makeshift bandaged and had already removed the tourniquet.

"Guess you won't actually be needing this any longer," he had said as he removed it. His hands at least, had been much gentler than the doctor.

"Okay," Rae took the supplies from Buffy, and slowly pulled the IV from her arm. "God, I hate needles," she complained, but she didn't loosen hold on the butterfly. Once she had removed the needle, she clamped the cotton ball on it, applying pressure to slow the bleeding. "A little help?" she asked weakly, and Spike applied the Band-Aid.

They all waited a second for Rae to open her eyes, which were clouded with pain. She took a couple of deep breaths. "Alright. Ready for stage two?"

"Ready if you are, pet."

"Okay. Then commence operation get the fuck out of this bed." Spike offered her his hand, and somehow she managed to stand up.

"Do you think you're going to be able to walk on it?" Buffy asked.

"Yeah," Rae said. Her voice choked with pain. "I can't promise you it is going to be graceful or fast. But I'll do it." She looked at the M.D., who was still sprawled across the foot of the bed. "What are we going to do about Doctor McDreaming over here?"

"I'll take care of him. You birds get out of here. I'll meet you two blocks down."

"What are you going to do with him?" Rae asked, unable to keep the concern out of her voice. Spike was a good man, she knew this, but she had also seen the kind of violence he was capable of. It had always been against demons. But this man had threatened him. Had threatened all of them. And she was afraid of what measures he might take to protect them. Because protect them he would. Not even her so much. But he would protect Buffy, whatever it took. That much was clear just from the way the two of them looked at each other. With a kind of fierce love that terrified her.

Spike handed Rae his coat. "Take this. It's freezing out. And I don't have much actual use of it," as he took off the coat and handed it to her, he held her gaze. "I'm just going to make him more comfortable," Spike said softly, gesturing to the bed, assuring her. "I figure that it is only a matter of time until some P.A. or R.N. finds him, but until then I think a bit of rest is just what the doctor ordered."

Spike met Buffy and Rae a few blocks from the hospital. He wasn't far behind them, mostly because it had taken the two women quite a while to walk the paltry distance. Rae kept apologizing and Buffy had been remarkably patient. After all, the girl couldn't help being hurt. She just hoped there weren't and baddies lurking nearby. They were excellent targets right about now.

When they got back to Spike and Buffy's apartment, Buffy scrounged up a couple of extra pillows and blankets to make up a bed for Rae. Now it was her turn to apologize. But Rae had reassured her that it was fine, comfortable even, and the blood stain wasn't a problem at all, because after all, it was her blood. And after she had swallowed down a few of the painkillers that Spike had pocketed at the hospital, courtesy of some careless nurse, she passed out quickly enough.

Spike was already in bed when Buffy curled up beside him.

He tentatively put an arm around her. "Is this okay?" he asked.

"Why wouldn't it be?" she asked sleepily. Snuggling closer to him.

"Well, did exchange some words tonight. Didn't know if you would be in the mood for a cuddle."

"I think we are just the word exchangey type. Besides I'm always in the mood for a cuddle. You know me: cuddle girl. She who cuddles."

"If you say "Captain Cuddles" I am going to sleep on the floor."

She rolled over to her other side so that she was facing him. "I wasn't going to say that. You would say that."

"I bloody wouldn't," he replied indigently.

She gave him a look before kissing him. "See we're being all word exchangey again." She kissed him again, a deeper kiss, their tongues dancing. She smiled when they finally pulled apart from one another. "And apparently it not just words we exchange."

"Would like to exchange more, love, but I'm tired to my bones."

"You are becoming such an old man, I don't know what I am going to do with you. At least, I guess you'll sleep like the dead, then."

"Very funny."

"I know. I'm exhausted too. It was quite a day. And night." God, it was less than twelve hours ago that they had fought that dragon. And then had all of that amazing, mind blowing, earth shattering sex. It felt like a lifetime ago. Maybe that's part of the reason why Slayers lasted long. Aside from the obvious dangers of Slaying, so much could be packed into twenty-four hours. Maybe it wasn't so much a death wish as a desire for a little RIP.

"That is was." There was a pause before Spike slowly asked, "So, where do we go from here?"

"We find some answers. Find out what Rae is and what's after her," she said matter-of-factly. "You think the two things are related?"

"Possibly."

"That 'possibly' sounded way too much like an 'I doubt it.' And it would be really awesome if we only had one mystery to solve this week."

"It's just that I've pissed off a lot of powerful warlords in this town," he replied, refusing to meet her gaze.

"And you think that instead of going after you, they went after her."

He looked down. "Pretty much."

"Well, at least that explains some of the overprotective guilt capades starring Spike." He didn't smile. "Look, Spike. We'll find out what attacked her and we'll find it and we'll kill it. You can talk to her about it tomorrow while I'm at class. She trusts you, and hopefully she'll be a bit more coherent and a little less terrified by then. Any idea what kind of demon she is? You are kind of the walking demon encyclopedia guy."

"Not a clue," he paused. "No, there is one thing. Her old man. He worked for Wolfram and Hart."

"And you think he might be a demon."

"Well, the firm has got no problem meeting their demon employment quota. Might be evil incarnate, but at least they embrace diversity."

"Okay. Well, that's something. So, tomorrow find out what you can about him. He might be our guy, or our demon, or our whatever."

"What will you do?"

"I have to be on campus anyway, so I'll check out your office. See if I can find anything that might explain any of this. Then I'll see what you found out and then I'm calling Giles."

"Rupes? I thought that he was back in the bosom of the mother country."

"He is. But we are going to need some help with this. And he has all the resources."

"Scoobies to the rescue again then, yeah?"

She smiled. "Something like that."

"The lot of you do have an annoying habit of actually saving the day."

She grinned. "Yeah, well, right back at you." She reached up and kissed him again. "Thanks, by the way.."

"For what?"

"For saving me again."

"Every night I would save you, love. Will keep doing it too. Till the end of whatever. Life. Time. The world. Take your pick." She nuzzled closer to him, her head tucked under his chin. He took a deep breath, unnecessary but reassuring all the same. "But Buffy. I've made mistakes. Lots. And… well, after tonight I'm pretty sure they are all going to come back to bite my ass completely off."

She looked up into his eyes, which she could hardly make out in the darkness of their bedroom, but she knew that he could see hers. "Spike. I honestly don't want to know. Not right now anyway. When they do come back, we'll deal, and we'll try to keep the ass biting to a minimum. But I can't handle anything more tonight. I'm barely keeping myself together as it is. I promise you, we'll deal. Just not tonight, okay."

"But Buffy…"

"Shhh…" she interrupted him. "I love you. God help me, I love you, stupid mistakes and all. How many times have you tried to kill me and/or my friends, Spike? You tried to rape. If I can forgive you all that, then I'm pretty sure I'll be able to absolve you of any post-soul sins. Now, can we just sleep? I need a couple of hours of rest, with you, without the rest of the world barging in to fuck everything up again."

He sighed, surrendering to her request. "I love you, Buffy."

"I love you too, Spike."

And then, clinging to each other, the fist few rays of dawn just beginning to spread over the city, they drifted off to sleep.


	43. Til the End of the World

**Sorry this chapter took me a while to post. With the holidays I did not have much time for writing, and this chapter was giving me all sorts of problems (as you can probably guess by just how long it is; it refused to be any shorter than this). I'm going on vacation for the next ten days, so I won't have an update for a while. But I do hope you enjoy. As always thanks to everyone who has taken the time to review the story, subscribe to an alert, and/or add it to their favorites. And hope everyone has a happy new year. **

**New York 2009**

Buffy was going to slay her alarm clock. It was an evil soulless thing, and she was going to kill it until it died. She felt like she had just snuggled into Spike's arms and drifted off to sleep. There was no way it was time to get up. Especially because she was warm and cuddly and safe with her vampire, and if she didn't get up she could pretend that she did not have a world full of problems waiting for her outside that bedroom door.

Except that she did have to get up and get to class, because who knew how many classes she might miss during the next apocalypse, and if she ended up failing Giles would give her the I'm-not-mad-I'm-just-disappointed-look, which she really so did not want pointedly thrown in her general direction. Again.

It wasn't fair. Slaying was way easier when you didn't have an attendance policy to worry about. Now that she thought about it that was probably why she had dropped out of college in the first place. Because evil really did care about whether or not she made it to class on time. Or at all. And she couldn't exactly use "averting an apocalypse" as an excuse. Not one that her professors were likely to believe anyway. It was right up there with "dog ate my homework" on most teachers' bullshit scale.

At least being the Slayer meant that she didn't really need sleep. It helped, of course. But she didn't really need it. Not the way normal people did. She would be looking haggard enough today. But she would be able to handle whatever the day and the night could throw at her.

Three hours was enough sleep. Or was going to have to be.

And she had gotten used to being tired. So tired. No rest for the wicked equals no rest for the ones who fight the wicked. If only wicked would take a nap every once in a while. She could so use the snoozage.

She started to disentangle herself from Spike arms, but as she wiggled out of his grasp his hold on her grew tighter. "Not allowed to get up yet, love," Spike murmured. His voice thick with sleep and, frankly, really really cute.

"Have to." She sighed.

"Why?" he demanded. Pouting. His eyes still half closed. God, he was not making this easy for her.

"It's another duty thing. Not a sacred one. But still. English class calls. And as much as I might want to spend all day in bed with sexy boyfriend, I can't. So stop with the pouting. You know that that's not playing fair. And I'm pretty sure it's evil."

"Bollocks. What about when you pout?" he demanded.

"It's still not playing fair. But it means I win. So, I'm kinda okay with it."

"Your logic never ceases to baffle me Slayer. Guess I'm going to have to let you go then, yeah?"

She kissed his forehead softly. "Only for a little while. I only have one class today. And a little poking around. I'll be back before you know it. Maybe even before you're fully conscious."

"Love you, Buffy." He tightened his arms around her for another second before letting her go.

She got out of bed, stretching slightly as the cold air hit her skin. She quickly pulled on a sweatshirt that had been lying on the floor. Opening a draw, she pulled out a pair a sweatpants and another sweatshirt, and grabbing a tee-shirt, she put the clothes on top of her dresser. "For Rae," she explained to the half asleep vampire.

He opened one eye and observed the pile of sweats. "That's sweet of you, pet," he mumbled into his pillow.

"Yeah well. She is probably feeling pretty grimy at this point. Or will be when she comes to. Hopefully at this point she isn't feeling anything at all."

"Those meds will probably have her knocked out for a while, yet. Good thing too that. Bird needs a bit of rest."

"Good thing some of us are getting some."

Spike apparently was not too tired to raise an eyebrow. "I'd say you've been getting plenty love," he smirked seductively.

Or at least he was going for seductive. That was his seductive look. The one that made her go weakish in the knees and wettish between the thighs. But with his curls tousled and his eyes heavy with sleep, he looked really adorably disheveled rather than actually seductive. Still, it was, well, charming, and definitely did make her want to hop right back into bed with him. "Some rest, Spike. Actually not something I get a lot of with you around."

He lowered his eyelashes, "Not entirely my fault, Slayer."

She laughed. Giggled might be more accurate, but she didn't like to think of herself as a giggler. She had gather up an outfit to wear to class and was ready to get cleaned up before heading to campus. "Fine. Not entirely. But mostly," she smiled. "Now get back to bed your silly, sleepy, vampire head." He opened his mouth, probably planning on making another lewd comment, possibly about vampire head, but she cut him off. "And behave yourself while I'm gone."

There must have been something significant in her tone or her facial expression. Because he was completely awake in an instant and holding her again in the next one. "Buffy. I would never.." he began.

"I know," she cut him off again. "Just don't okay," she said softly, smiling sadly up at him.

"Promise, love. With everything that I am. I may be a bloody berk sometimes Buffy, made a lot of stupid mistakes and stupider plans. But I love you."

"And I love you. And I trust you, Spike. Which for me is kinda a huge deal. But you have way more than earned it."

She kissed him and let her body melt into his for the minute that their lips were locked. Then she broke off the kiss and looked up into his eyes. "We're going to be okay, Spike. We'll be okay."

"'Til the end of the world, pet."

"Well, I'll just have to keep it from ending then."

Spike had gone back to bed once Buffy had left. She had popped in one more time to say goodbye and to let him know that Rae was still off in the land of nod. Best let her get a bit of kip now. She was going to need her strength when she finally came to. They were going to need to figure out the answers to a couple of bloody tough questions.

He had reckoned it would be best to keep in bed himself. No need wandering around the apartment while the bint was trying to rest. Not much for him to do anyway. It wasn't long before her heard Rae wake. She did so with a start and a gasp. The events of the past nigh probably hurling at her like a bloody sledge hammer.

"How's the leg?" he asked, walking into the main room of the apartment.

"Better," she managed, trying, but failing, to keep the tremble from her voice. She looked past him, obviously expecting to see Buffy.

"She went to a class," he answered her unasked question. "Let's have a look at that cut, yeah? Then you can get cleaned up."

She nodded. "It hurts much less. Although that could just be residual painkilling from whatever the fuck it was that you gave me last night."

"That's good news, pet." She sat up and pulled her leg onto the couch. She was moving it much more easily, Spike noted, the stiffness of pain apparently lessened. She loosed the bandages, let them fall, and they both stared. Her leg was completely healed. Where yesterday there had been a gaping wound, today there was only a thin, silvery, crescent shaped scar. That was it.

She looked at him, her eyes full of horror. "Spike.." she choked on his name and began to sob.

"No need to cry pet. This is a good thing, right. You're all healed up."

"All healed up," she repeated absently, her eyes empty and vague for a moment. Then she shook her head. "I'm all healed, Spike. But what the fuck am I? Not even you heal like this. So, what the fuck?"

"Not going to lie, pet," he said, "that is kinda the sixty-four thousand dollar bloody question." He kneeled in front of her. "But we're going to answer it. We'll find out what you are, kitten," he murmured and kept murmuring as she put her head on his shoulder and started sobbing again.

When she had cried herself out, red nosed and blood shot eyes, she asked him if she could take a shower. "Sure thing, pet. Buffy left you some clothes. Figured you'd want out of those togs." He got up, moving toward the bedroom.

"Spike," she stopped him mid-stride, and he turned to face her. "Thank you. You save my life last night."

He shrugged. "Us anti-heroes have to do what we can, pet."

"What's with the sudden burst of modest and the weird inferiority complex?" she asked. "I mean your champion creds check out, and you do have a really useful habit of coming to the rescue. Something, I might add, that you pointed out to me. A lot. And pretty much any one else who would listen, even if they had to because you were punching their head. So, you're hardly the second string superhero you make yourself out to be now that Buffy's back. You're kinda the real deal when it comes to heroics."

"No, I'm not, Rae. But I can do my best, yeah," he ran his hand over his curls. "Now let me fetch you those clothes so you can get cleaned up. We've got a lot to suss out today, not the least of which is the mystery of exactly what you are, love. No need to spend any more time debating what I am."

The water pipes screeched as Rae turned the water on as hot as it could go. She had always loved hot showers, Spike remembered. He had taken his fair share of them with her. The bathroom filling with steam, the air thick and heavy around them, their skin scalding from the water.

He heard her step into the shower. Hopefully this would relax her a bit. She was too cagey, and there was plenty of unpleasantness yet to come. She had tensed up, freaked out, anytime he had asked her about or alluded to her attackers. Now was about time for her to spill the bloody demon beans.

_Darling, give me your absence tonight  
>Take the shade from the canvas and leave me the white<br>Let me sink in the silence that echoes inside  
>And don't bother leaving the light on <em>

Her voice filled the apartment. Soft and timid at first, and then swelling outward, flooding entire space. She always sang in the shower. Sometimes he doubted that it was even conscious half the time. More habitual, automatic than an actual performance.

But it was beautiful.

_'Cuz I suddenly feel like a different person  
>From the roots of my soul come a gentle coercion<br>And I ran my hand o'er a strange inversion  
>A vacancy that just did not belong<br>The child is gone _

He hadn't been lying to Buffy when he had told her that Rae was a talented musician. She had an uncanny knack for picking out the notes of songs she had only heard once. An amazing ear. And he also hadn't been lying when he had said that he was a piss poor pupil. He had playing with her, but he hadn't been able to keep up. Not only had he had lost the dueling bloody banjoes, he had never had a chance of winning.

_Honey help me out of this mess  
>I'm a stranger to myself<br>But don't reach for me, I'm too far away  
>I don't wanna talk 'cuz there's nothing left to say<br>_

But none of that had matter much. Because it was worth it just to hear her sing. The way her voice caressed each word, like honey, sweet and slow and viscous. He had heard drunken grad gits tell her that she sang like an angel, but that wasn't right. Not even close. She sang like an old sinner. Or a siren. Velvety. Sultry. Seductive. Fucking sexy. Definitely not like any angel he had ever encountered. Not that he knew many. But he doubted the sounded like sex dripping with molasses or hot fudge.

How could he have helped but fall in love with her once he heard her sing?

_So my  
>Darling, give me your absence tonight<br>Take all of your sympathy and leave it outside  
>'Cuz there's no kind of loving that can make this all right<br>I'm trying to find a place I belong_

When they had gone to her friends' parties or had people over to her place, she would eventually pull out the guitar and start singing. Once she had enough to drink or smoke and had gotten over her initial inhibitions. Some nights she would cajole him into playing too. But it had never been about him. Even when she insisted that he take the lead. They would watch her, enraptured, enthralled. Taken in by the magic of her song.

And bloody hell if he hadn't been one of them.

_And I suddenly feel like a different person  
>From the roots of my soul come a gentle coercion<br>And I ran my hand over a strange inversion  
>As the darkness turns into the dawn<br>The child is gone  
>The child is gone <em>

She came out of the bathroom, dressed in Buffy's old sweats, which were a bit tight around her hips and across her chest. Her hair pulled back in a loose bun, small curls escaping and framing her face.

"Thanks. That makes me almost feel human again. Almost," she laughed dryly.

"Pet, you don't need to do that."

"Do what?"

"You know the bitter irony routine. This thing, it doesn't change who you are. Only what you are."

"Isn't that pretty much the same thing."

He laughed harshly. "Maybe to some. But you happen to be talking to a vampire who fought one hell of a nasty fucker to win his soul so that he could be as human as he felt."

"I don't even know if I have a soul. I mean I thought I did… before… but now, how can I even know."

"Fuck Rae, how did you know in the first place? I mean, I know I have mine because I know what its like to be without one. But hell girl, if you don't have a soul you don't bloody need one. You've got the morality thing down, and you're almost too empathetic. If you don't have one then you can skip the soulful lightshow, that's for damn sure."

"But you had said that part of what makes demons evil is their souls, or conspicuous lack there of," she challenged him. "No soul equals no conscience equals evil. Does that pretty much sum up the existential equation?"

"Buffy and her chums might think like that. Sometimes. But even she knows there are more shades of grey in this world than there are any rules that are hard and fast. She might forget it at times, but she knows. The rules are only there to make the choices we make easier. We take comfort in them, but they fucking fabricated for that very reason. So that we can live with ourselves. So that we don't spend every bloody moment second guessing ourselves."

"So, they are just functional lies?"

"Pretty much. Comforting, functional lies. The blinders that help us fumble through existence without going bleeding barmy with doubt."

"Do you have any whiskey?" she asked abruptly. "Or really anything with alcohol. Or THC. I'll take mouth wash if you have it."

He raised an eyebrow. "Bit early to be hitting the bottle isn't, pet?"

"I…" she began, "I don't think that I'm going to be able to make it through today without some kind of chemical crutch. I wish I could. I wish I were stronger. But, I'm not. I'm just not, Spike," she continued, her voice strained with the tears already threatening another deluge.

He got up without saying a word and grabbed a bottle of jack and two glasses. He poured a generous measure. "Breakfast of Champions."

"Does it count if it's martinis?" she asked, gulping down half the whiskey, the glass clinking against her teeth. Spike refilled her glass.

"Take it easy, pet. Don't need you passing out. We've got some things that need talking out. But you ought to call the department and cancel your class today. Don't reckon that you be making it in." He picked his cell phone up and handed it to her, "You're in no condition to teach. And you'll be in less of one once you finish off that bottle." He handed her his phone.

She nodded. "I'll give Chris a call. He's usually on campus. Maybe he could fill in for me."

Chris was her dissertation director and the department chair. Spike had actually been jealous of the guy after the first few times Rae had come home gushing about how brilliant he was. But he was married: wife, three kids, dog. The whole happy family deal. And he seemed like a decent bloke. Still, he had been jealous, if only a bit. Especially after the department diner when Chirs, his voice thick and heavy with scotch, had cornered Spike and confided in him exactly how much he admired his girl.

Rae dialed the number, and Spike went into the kitchen and started banging around some pots and pans, not doing anything useful, but not wanting to ease drop on her conversation. He would hear what she was saying, that he couldn't help even if he went down the hall, but he could at least try to avoid listening in on the whole bloody thing.

"Hello. Chris. It's Rae…. Oh, this is Spike's, er William's phone…. Oh, no, no. No, I was attacked by a dog last night…. No. It's fine… Yeah, I know. Weird. And Sp—William, happened to be leaving campus. And he found me and took me the hospital… Yes. Very lucky…. Yes. I'm positive we're not seeing each other again… Yeah… The thing is I don't think I'm going to be able to teach today…. Yeah. I'm in pretty bad shape. I think I'll need the weekend to recover…Actually, now that you mention it, I was going to ask you for something. Do you think you could take my class today? I know it's a lot to ask, but I was only going to show them the film version of _Landscape_… Yes, the one directed by Peter Hall… Mmhmm, with Peggy Ashcroft and David Waller…" She laughed. "Yes, it's a VHS… Thank you so much Chris, I owe you one… No, really thanks. I'll make it up to you. I promise… Okay… Yeah… Bye."

As she hung up the phone, Spike moved back into the room. "So how long have you been sleeping with him?" Spike asked nonchalantly.

"What?" Rae asked. "I'm not… I am not sleeping… with him. No."

"You are also not a very good liar."

"Fine. You know what. I am. But it's really none of your business, is it?"

"You're better than that cliché," he said gently.

"Well, maybe it is cliché. A little too 'Don't stand so close to me.' But we don't have any illusions. He was bored. I was lonely. He drove me home under the pretense of the rain. I invited him in on the pretense of coffee to fuel his drive home to Long Island and his wife and his kids. I might be trite and it scripted but you don't get to say anything about it. You left me, Spike. Granted I kicked you out. But you were gone way before that. And you used me, Spike. Not the whole time we were together. I know that. But in the end, you used me. Do you have any idea how that makes a person feel?"

"Yeah. Actually, I do. And I'm sorry for it, pet," he looked down at her hands.

"Fine. I know. Let's just drop it. Dwelling on this shit is not going to make anything easier for anyone. Now, I'll tell you whatever you need to know that doesn't involve who I am fucking."

"I figured we start by talking about Daddy dearest."

"My father?" she asked blankly. "What does he have to do with anything?"

"Well, seeing as he worked for Evil Inc, and they don't take much of an issue with hiring demons, I reckon it's as good a place as any to start with," he leaned back in his chair.

"Alright. Well. He's dead now. And I didn't really know if that well. I think I told you, I didn't meet the guy until I was a moody pubescent. And most of the time I lived with him I was an even moodier teenager who had been uprooted form her home by a man who had been little more than a sperm donor to her and whose mother had taken off and disappeared. Wasn't exactly a recipe for father daughter bonding, you know."

"Did you ever notice anything odd about him?"

"Odd?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"You know the usual stuff: horns, tails, fangs, scales, a face that went all bumpy when he sneezed."

"No, no, no no, and ew. No, there was nothing demonic about him. If anything he was just kinda a stiff in a suit."

"Like dead man stiff."

"No, like working stiff," she corrected. "You really suck at this, you know that?" she said with a small smile.

"Never claimed to be a detective. That's Angel's L.A. noir gig. Right. So, nothing demonic, then."

"Not that I can remember. Like I said, I kinda avoided him like he was the plague. Not that there was anything really plaguey about him. Not raining toads or bloody rivers or death to the first borns or anything. He just seemed like a boring middle aged deadbeat dad."

"So, serious daddy-issues, huh, pet. Reckon that's why you're sleeping with a guy old enough to be your father."

"Says the vampire who celebrated his centennial a quarter of a century ago. You're old enough to be my great great grandfather Spike. Should we waste more time psychoanalyzing that one? I said I don't want to talk about it.

"Sorry, Rae. Just don't trust it, is all," he said softly.

"And I already said you don't get to have an opinion about it. Now get we get back to talking about my apparently demonic dad, seeing as how we have figured out precisely nothing."

"No matter. The sodding scoobies will get to the bottom of this."

"How the fuck are they going to do that when I don't know a damn thing?" she demanded.

"They have their ways. Just need a name pet."

"Joshua Knoxen."

Buffy took a deep breath as she stood outside of Spike and Rae's office. She so did not want to go in there. The smell of blood was already making her feel slightly icky, and she knew that once she opened that door it was going to be even worse. You would think that after all her years of doing this she would have gotten used to it. But not so much. Why, she wondered, had she volunteered for this super gross recon?

Oh, yeah, because if Spike couldn't come here, not for a few hours at least, without doing his flaming vamp routine. And Rae was in no way stable enough to come back here. She probably wouldn't have any idea of what to look for anywhere.

Not that Buffy did.

She did have her instincts though, which had helped her to solver her fair share of monster mysteries. She had a knack for picking out which details might be important. She had no idea why they might be important, but she was good at picking them out. There wasn't anything scientific or systematic about it. Just her feelings, really.

Except this time she really hoped that her feelings were not going to get in the way.

She hated the fact that she had had to leave Spike alone with that woman. And she hated herself for hating it. God, why did she find it so difficult to trust anyone. Even Spike, who had never betrayed her. Hurt her. Yes. Betrayed her. Never.

It hadn't helped, of course, that her English class had been spent discussing romantic triangles. More specifically the one in the book they were reading, _The Age of Innocence_. The one where this guy, Newland, which by the way was a wicked stupid name, cheats on his boring blonde wife with a more exotic, more interesting woman. The class' condemnation of May had given Buffy chills. How natural, it seemed, that Newland would prefer Ellen to May. May never even had a chance.

But she wasn't a fucking May Welland.

She was the Slayer.

And Spike wasn't Newland Archer. He would call Newland a pounce or something. One of those weird British Spikisms. And he would not betray her.

She just had to keep telling herself that.

She unlocked the door to the office and covered her nose with the sleeve of her sweater. She so was not going to last long in here. Demons she could handle. The grosser the better. But this was too much. She was the Slayer. Not CSI. True, they both dealt in death everyday. But totally different vibes. She did not like dead things. Or things that reminded her of dead things. Unless, of course, she was making them, you know, deader. And then bring it on.

There wasn't much to see here anyway. The furniture was all messed up. But that was probably just from Rae's attempt at a barricade. The attack, the struggle, hadn't taken place here. And whatever it was that had attacked her, it hadn't followed her here.

At least she could grab Rae's backpack and jacket. Make this whole thing a bit less of a compete waste of time.

Just as she was about to leave the office, she felt her phone vibrate in her pocket.

1 new message: Spike. Wow. She didn't even know he knew how to text. Angel was so completely hopeless when it came to technology. She had just assumed that all vampires, especially the really old ones, all sucked at it. One more reason, Spike would tell her, that she shouldn't base her ideas about vampires all on 'Peaches.'

_R's dad: Joshua Knoxen. Have Red get on it_.

Good. So he had made some progress. Even if that was, admittedly, the easier part of whatever kind of integratey Dr. Philness he was doing. At least it was something.

She dialed Will's number. Not even sure what time it was wherever Willow might be.

Luckily, Willow answered. "Hey, Buffy." Her reception was bad, but not terrible. "How is everything with school? How are the Spike smoochies?"

"School, well, is school. And Spike smoochies are, well, Spike smoochies. Which means tingly amazingness. How about you? How is Kennedy and everything?"

Willow hesitated for a moment. "Good. Everything is, you know, good. Kennedy has been really busy training the new girls and the demony stuff and stuff, but she is good. Really good. Sometimes I come along. But, sometimes she asks me not too. I'm too powerful, she says. The girls need a chance to make with the fightingness on their own. Which, hey, makes sense. They are Slayers. But, yeah, everything is good."

"Usually when someone says 'good' that many times in a minute, it means that they are not," Buffy said, concerned.

"No. I'm good, Buffy. Really. Really good. Scouts honor."

"I didn't think you ever were a scout."

"Well, I wasn't. But, still, honorable as a scout."

Buffy laughed. "Fine if you insist Willow. I actually need to ask you a major favor."

"Shoot. Need some help with the magics?"

"No. It's actually you other, more computer hackery powers. I need you to find some information about a man. Joshua Knoxen. Worked at the Chicago Wolfram and Hart. Think you can help?"

"I'm your geek. What do you need to find out?"

"Whatever you can. But we kinda need to know what sort of demon he is."

"Why? What's going on?"

"I'm not entirely sure, Willow," she paused, unsure of how much to tell her friend. Willow was her best friend. She should be able to tell her anything and everything. But she didn't want Willow to start hating Spike. Again. Not when she was finally tolerating him. She swallowed. "It's a friend of Spike's. She was attacked. And she healed wicked fast. And the doctor said that her blood wasn't human. And we really need to figure out what we're dealing with. This Knoxen guy is apparently her father."

Willow didn't respond right away. "I'll help Buffy. You know I will. But this 'friend,'" Buffy could hear the airquotes, "she wouldn't happen to be what Anya called an 'orgasm friend,' would she?" Willow's voice was suspicious, unsure.

"She was," Buffy answered. "But not anymore. He… he broke this off with her to be with me."

"And you trust him?"

"You know what, Will. I really do."

"Alright, pet, so that was the softball portion of this event. Now you've got to tell me what happened last night," Spike said, pouring more Jack in Rae's glass.

Rae swallowed audibly. "I know," she closed her eyes. "Okay. So, out with it. I was on campus late," she began, "doing some work. And then Chris stopped by my… our… office. He had been campus late, too. Grading papers. He said that he didn't want to go home. That he had been having a lot of problems with her, his…uh… his wife. He asked me if I wanted to go out for a drink. But, I… I told him that I had too much stuff to do," she looked down. "And then he started kissing me. And he told me that he couldn't stop thinking about me. About my…my body. About how I made him feel. He told me that he thought he was falling in love with me. I told him that he wasn't, but I fucked him anyway."

"Bugger that. You shagged him in our office? You know I'm the one who has to smell that shit." He said, wondering how it was that he hadn't noticed the other man's scent all over her last night. Probably the smell of her, her fear, her blood, overwhelmed, completely drowned out the man's scent.

"Spike, can we please not do this. You asked what happened. I'm telling you."

"Fine. Alright. You and the professor took a roll in the hay. Then what?"

"He left."

"He left?"

"Yeah. Started feeling guilty and had to get home. I stayed for a few more hours. Then I left. I wasn't far off campus when I heard this voice calling my name. I ignored it, because it was seriously freaking me out. So, I kept walking toward the subway. But then, then I saw them. There was this old man. Like emaciated. Almost I don't know. Skeletor. His eyes were like, I don't know, like fire," she was trembling and practically hyperventilating.

"Calm down, love," Spike placed his hand over hers. "It's all right. You're safe."

She did not speak for a few moments as she focused on slowing her breathing.

"His eyes, pet. Were they flames?" Spike asked gently once Rae seemed sufficiently calmed.

"No. Like coals. Like smoldering. But in an on fiery non-sexy kind of way."

"And his togs?"

"Togs?" she asked, her nose wrinkled in confusion for a moment. "Oh, his clothes. He was wrapped in a black cloak that, like, jingled when he walked. And he moved toward me. And he said that it was time for me. That I was ripe."

"Balls. You mentioned something about that last night. Right before you passed out. Bloody fucking hell," Spike muttered.

"What does it even mean?"

"Bugger if I know. Bloody demons fancy these bleeding riddles. Got a real love for sodding similes and metaphors those do. We'll ask Giles bout it. Bloke's got a real love of symbolize. What happened next?"

"I shook my head. And started to back away. And I turned around and I saw it. Them."

"Was it an it or a them, pet?"

She was shaking again. "It was both. I mean. It had three heads. And it snapped at me. Three mouths with gnashing teeth. I never really understood the whole gnashing thing until last night. And I screamed and started to run and it pounced at me and one of its, their, heads got a chunk of me and somehow I got away. I don't know how. And the old man was calling after me that I couldn't run from them. That they would find me and bring me home. To my parent children. And I ran back on to campus. And for some reason they didn't follow me. But I didn't stop running. Not until I got to the office. And then I tried to block the door. But my leg hurt so bad, like it was about it burn off. And I felt so weak and so afraid and certain that I was going to die. And then I called you. Why do you think they didn't follow me? I was hurt they could have caught me. Killed me."

"It's a Jesuit school. Ground might be hallowed. Some demons don't do so well on sacred soil, that sort of thing. Doesn't keep all the nasties away, but it does afford some protection."

"Oh," she said, nodding slowly.

Spike leaned back in his chair. "And this three headed thing? What kind of heads might they have been?"

She paused for a moment. "They were… they were like dogs."

"Bollocks. Fuck. Bloody fucking hell. Sodding balls." Spike swore. "Then tipping up the bottle he emptied the bottle of Jack into both of their glasses. "Might as well drink up, kitten. Fucking bloody hell."

Buffy entered the room. "Spike, what the hell is going on here? I heard you swearing from down the hall." She looked at the now empty bottle. "Are you drunk?"

"No. Wish I was though. Know how we were talking about the end times, pet?"

"Yeah. Spike."

"They're here," Spike said.

"What makes you say that," Buffy said, the color draining from her face.

"When the fucking ferryman takes the fucking guard dog out for a walk in New York City, love, the word's longetivy is not looking so hot. Expiration date is past and all. We're talking apocalypse now, Slayer."

"It's always apocalypse now, Spike. It's never been apocalypse later. Apocalypse in a little bit. These kinds of things are always kinda urganty. Now what's got you so freaked out."

"Remember Glory."

"Pyscho slut of a hell god who I died to stop? Of course."

"Glory is small time, Buffy. We need to talk to Giles, but I think we've got a whole bunch of nasty big bad demon gods heading our bloody way."

Buffy did not speak for a minute and when she did "Shit" was all she could manage to say.

**Song credit: the song Rae sing's in the shower is Fiona Apple's hauntingly beautiful "The Child is Gone." **


	44. Armageddon Again

**Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed the story, added it to favorites, alerts, etc. Sorry it took me so long to post this chapter. I've been busy putting together my syllabus for next semester (definitely teaching _Buffy_, need to indoctrinate the next generation), and this chapter kinda kicked my ass for a while. It is a little expositiony, so I apologize for that, but I felt it finally time to start explaining a bit of what exactly is going on here. Anyway, I do hope you enjoy. Thanks again. **

**New York 2009**

They were all silent for a few minute. No one venturing to talk. What was there too say, really? The end of the world. Again. The two of them who had lived through apocalypse after apocalypse after apocalypse were just too jaded, too tired to speak. The one new to the whole Armageddon thing was too terrified for words.

Buffy broke the silence. "Can you just back up the apocalypse truck for one minute, and explain exactly what the fuck is going on?" she managed. "Maybe you could, you know, like explain exactly how the hell you know that we're going to be hosting a demon god family reunion?"

"The nasties that attacked Rae. They weren't your run of the mill demons," Spike explained.

"So, okay. We have some extra bad baddies in town. No big, right?" she flopped down on the couch next to Spike, across from Rae who was curled up in a remarkably uncomfy comfy chair. "Bring them down, take them out."

He shook his head. "No. These aren't just demons of the brawling and beating variety, love. They're portents."

"Great portents. Fucking portents. That's such a Gilesy word. And it almost never means goodness. Like I'm guessing these aren't bringing tidings of hugs and puppies?"

"Don't know about the hugs or the puppies, love. But you can bet that they pretty much squashed the canary in this bloody coal mine. That's for damn sure."

"But what are they? I mean besides harbingers of Armageddon," Buffy pressed.

"A Hades-hound, a hellhound, for one, by the sound of it."

"Hellhound. Like mangy, wrinkly kind of guys. Seriously bad breath. Real hatred of formalwear. Need to floss," Buffy leaned back in her seat and breathed a reliefy sigh. "I killed like three of them before prom. And then showed up fashionably late, emphasis on the fashionable. What can I say, I've had the time of my life. And why are you looking at me like that?" Buffy finished warily.

Spike shook his head. "Didn't know there were hellhounds in Sunnydale. How the fuck did they get there?"

"Hellmouth, hellhound. Makes sense that we'd have a few pups playing fetch in Sunnydale. Besides, Tucker whistled for them or something. Not really sure how you call hellhounds. You think its like 'Here boy,' or something?"

"Tucker?" Spike asked.

"Yeah, you know. Andrew's older brother. He was pissed that he got snubbed, so he made with the magicks and summoned some demon dogs to crash the prom. And he wondered why he couldn't get a date. Seriously dysfunctional dork."

"Andrew's brother," he laughed. "As in the magically pathetic Andrew? Well, if the pouncy apple didn't fall far from the pouncy tree, I serious doubt he had the mojo to call upon or control a hellhound. They aren't exactly golden retrievers, love."

"Well, he didn't control them so much as he pulled a Pavlov. Except instead of salivating he kinda conditioned them to slaughter."

"And you're sure they were hellhounds?" he asked her.

"Totally sure. At least that's what Giles called them. And you know him, library-guy. He doesn't usually get his shit wrong."

"No. He doesn't. It just doesn't add up is all, pet," Spike pressed his palms against his head, as if trying to clear it.

"These hell-hounds you fought. There must have been like nine heads. How did you do it?" Rae asked quietly. She had been sitting silently, nervously picking at the sleeve of the Sunnydale U sweatshirt Buffy had loaned her. "I mean, if we need to put another one to sleep, or whatever you do to them, it might be helpful to know how you did it before."

"Huh? What? Only three heads. One head each."

"You sure about that, love."

"Yeah. Trust me. One was enough. Talk about fugly. They make those weird hairless dogs seem absolutely adorable by comparison."

"Fucking Mahkash," Spike grumbled.

The two women exchanged a confused look.

"Yeah, that was sense making," Buffy said.

Spike shook his head. "I should have bloody known. It sodding clears up a few things."

Buffy looked at, crossing her arms in front of her chest. "Really only to you Spike."

Spike took out a pack of cigarettes, tapping its end.

"Can I bum a smoke?" Rae asked. "I need… I still need something. Still feeling pretty unsteady. I know you guys are used to the whole end of the world thing, but me, really not."

"Sure thing, pet." He pulled out two cigarettes, handing one two her, which she took between shaking fingers and brought to her lips. He lit hers before his own, holding his lighter to the end of her cigarette while she inhaled.

There was something that gesture that was so familiar and so intimate that Buffy had to look away. It wasn't fair. These reminders of the life he'd had without her. Buffy shook her head. No, this woman, whoever she was, was somehow connected with these portent thingies. They had come to her, hadn't they? And if she was to be believed, which Buffy was finding herself doing, only the barest whisper of suspicion remaining, then they had threatened and attacked her. Saving the world might mean keeping this very painful reminder of Spike's life without her very safe.

Spike lit his own cigarette, taking a deep drag. "The Mahkash Wars. Two demon clans going at it for almost six centuries. Nasty blood feud. Think the Capulets and the Montagues without the pouncy redeeming romance, yeah?" he explained. "The only problem was that over the course of half a millennium the war was killing the buggers faster than the clans could make 'em. Although I'm sure they tried their best. So, they genetically modified some lesser demons. Bred them up as foot soldiers. Bloody brain eaters, but not much in the way of brains themselves. Sort of the maim now ask questions never types. Called them hellhounds. Liked the alliteration, I guess. But they weren't hellhounds. Not even close. It would be like breeding a sodding chipmunk and calling it a Rottweiler."

"I swear sometimes you sound disturbingly like Giles, except that your expositioning tends to be a little less dry Britishy and more colorful Britishy. Do I even want to know how you know all of this?" Buffy asked warily.

He shrugged. "Had a couple of Mahkash hounds working for me for a while." Buffy raised an eyebrow. "What? Fyarls were getting expensive."

Her expression did not change.

"Evil, remember. And if you ask me, you and the Slayerettes should be fucking grateful that I was evil for as long as I was. Do you know how much less I would know about the darker corners of our world if I had been all soulful from the start? I've saved you blokes hundreds of research hours over the years."

Buffy rolled her eyes. "And I was right. So did not want to know. Anyway I assume that the Rottweiler is after Rae? Him and his ferry friend. You called him that right? What's his demonic deal?"

Spike took another drag on his cigarette. "He's a ferryman."

"You said that. What does it mean?"

"He helps people to cross over, doesn't he?" Rae asked. "Like Charon, right? Helps them to cross into death or over dimensions or something." She took a soothing lungful of nicotine, exhaling it slowly.

Spike grinned. "Right you are, pet. And I wager that is exactly who you ran into last night."

"Wait a minute. The Charon. Coins over your eyes, crossing the River Styx Charon?"

Spike nodded. "A Charon, pet. But close enough."

"But I thought there was only one… The stories. He is always singular. The Ferryman," Rae asked, clearly confused.

Spike exhaled a cloud of smoke. "The old myths as we have them, they tend to do that. One bloke to ferry you across the river, one whelp guarding the entrance to hell. Helps with the drama, narrativity you know. Good story telling. Besides, makes the hero seem all special. But think of how many people die a day? No way one ferry man is going to make the cut or one hellhound is going to do much bloody good guarding against the hoards if they suddenly decide they want out. There would be lines worse than Disney world if every dead soul had to wait for one old man with a boat to ferry them across. Demon or not. Works well in stories, but would be a fucking logistical nightmare."

"You've been to Disneyworld?" Buffy asked deadpan. "Doesn't exactly seem like your scene, Spike."

He looked down. "Yeah. Well. Dru always fancied children. She liked them because they tasted… tasted like gumdrops and innocence. Her words, not mine. Anyway. You want to know a real hell dimension, try riding It's a Small World over and over again with a barmy bint of a vampire prattling on about how much she wished Miss. Edith could be there to hear all the delicious singing, but no, Miss Edith had been too naughty, had been setting a bad example again, and needed to be punished, couldn't be allowed to see all the pretty dollies or snack on all the nummy little kiddies. Now that's torture."

"You know Spike, the more you tell me about yourself the more 'weird' doesn't even begin to cover it," Buffy said, clearly baffled.

Rae nodded. "I'm going to have to go with Buffy on this one. But for now I think that we should probably be focusing on, you know, the apocalypse, more than Spike's evil adventures in the Magic Kingdom, no matter how very very odd and disturbingly fascinating they might be."

"You know, I'd really be fine with that," Spike grumbled.

"Good," Rae said. "Because I think I get who… what… those things that attacked me were. But I still don't get how it means the end times are here."

"Some bloody powerful magicks needed to be tapped to bring those buggers over here."

"And you think that whoever, or whatever, did it were gods?" Buffy asked.

"Look. They come from the same place. Hellhounds and Charons."

"The Underworld?" Rae asked skeptically.

"Right. That's what it's called in the mythology. Implies that it's under our world, but that's a bunch of bollocks. It's a different dimension. And a none too pleasant one at that, I reckon."

"A hell dimension. Great. Why aren't things ever pleasant popping over from, you know, like happy Technicolor dimensions with lots and lots of really short people? Why is it always death and demons? It's getting really old you know that." Buffy pouted.

"Yeah, well, I imagine the ones from nicer dimensions, you know, like their home, so maybe their less likely to leave?" Rae offered.

"Do you think that's what they were up to, Spike, looking for a rental. Because the Bronx is so not the place to start. Not if you're trying to leave hell. They should totally try the upper west side. Or see about a hip spot in the village or something. And do they have any idea how much extra they are going to have to pay as a security deposit if they want to have a dog?"

Spike grinned. "I think they're planning on moving the whole family back."

"The whole family?" Buffy asked.

"You mean the Olympians?" Rae asked, coughing slightly on the smoke of her cigarette, her eyes wide.

"That I do. Although they'll take whatever name you give them. Regular chameleons that lot is. So long as the people are groveling and sacrifices are forthcoming they'll play whatever part you want of them. Sure they tend to be typecast, but that's the thing about archetypes, they'll usually fit the bill. So Amun becomes Odin becomes the Dagda becomes Zeus. Ra becomes Tonatiuh becomes Apollo. Seshet becomes Minerva. You get the point. The old ones had the power to change form, so they didn't mind a costume change or two to keep things interesting."

Rae blinked, looking incredulous. "But Poisden. Isis. Loki. Hades. They're just myths, aren't they? Not real."

"Says the girl who just found out she is not human," Buffy replied. Rae looked as though she had just been slapped. "I'm sorry. It's just… I mean… when you've been in this line as long as Spike and I have, you get real used to the idea of not counting anything out as just myth. I mean it could be. But then again, it might not be. And I'm guessing from the look on Spike's face that these gods are the real deal."

"Fraid so. They were Old Ones."

"You mean like the super demons that humans voted off the island or the planet or whatever?" Buffy asked.

"Precisely, love. Except that not all of them left. Some of them were captured and sunk in the Deeper Well. Others remained as gods. They got linked to the earth through human worship. A sort of supernatural hall pass, you know."

"So all of the mythology. All the stories about the god's whims and interference and tendency to change into animals and rape people, that's all legit?" Rae asked, her brows creased, still unable to believe what she was hearing.

"Can't say for sure which of those stories were real and which were embellishments or complete bullshit. Never can when it comes to religion. As much bugger-boo as it is based on a true story. What I can tell you is that when the humans came to town, these demons decided that they would rather not give up home sweet home. So, they convinced the humans to worship them as higher beings. As gods. Had the mojo, the power, to pull it off too. Not a bad deal, if you ask me. They didn't have to get packing and they had plenty of mortals groveling at their feet.

"There were some drawbacks, of course," he continued. "There always are. The only way to stay was to link themselves with humans, mortals, lesser beings. They depended on human's belief to keep them in the world. So wholesale slaughter was out of the picture. But they sponsored quite a few wars, volcanic eruptions, that sort of thing. The sort of mass killings that, if anything, get folks praying. Everything was working out pretty well for them until this one bloke showed up and got himself nailed to a tree. Then the whole thing pretty much went to shit."

"Huh," said Rae. "And I thought minorring in the Classics was impractical."

Buffy shook her head. "Wait. You're saying Christ was a demon?"

"Never said that."

"Then he was really the son of God?"

"Not saying that either. He was a guy who had a lot of good things to say, and we'd all be a bit better off if people had actually listened to what he was saying instead of spending all of their time blabbing about how they are holier than thou and quibbling about theological rubbish. The point isn't whether or not he was real. The point is that people began to believe. The gods started to lose their foothold. They did their best to hang on. Throwing the Christians to the lions was bloody brilliant if you ask me. But it wasn't enough. They didn't have the power anymore to keep themselves here any longer. Batteries running low and all that. They could either stay and run out of gas and lose all their Old One supernatural specialness…"

"Or they could go to a different dimension where they could recharge, right?" Buffy interrupted. Spike nodded. "But it would have to be someplace where they could tap their batteries into some believingness…."

"The Underworld," Rae looked to Spike for confirmation. "In the myths, that's the realm of the dead. The dead who would believe in them still."

"Look at you girls unraveling the evil enigma," Spike grinned. "Yeah. They went to the Underworld. The belief of the dead isn't as strong as the living. Their dead so, not much incentive to get too worked up about it. And they don't have much to sacrifice what with the conspicuous lack of corporality. It was enough to sustain them. But, I can tell you something, subsistence sucks. Sure you don't die or fade away, as the case maybe. But it's shit. It's hardly living once you've gotten used to the good stuff."

"So, you think that they are looking for a way back?" Buffy asked wearily. "To reset their all you can eat belief buffet."

"Something like that."

"Well, that's just great. It's been all of what, a year and a half since I last saved the world. Bout that time to do it again I guess," she said, exhaustion creeping into her voice, leaning her head back on the couch, closing her eyes rubbing her temples.

"But why now. And what does this have to do with me?" Rae asked softly.

"Well, there's the ruddy rub, isn't it. A bloody riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma cover in a thick layer of what the fuck, you are."

Buffy caught Spike's gaze. "Spike, how sure are you about all of this?"

"Pretty fucking sure, Buffy. The stuff about the demons I picked a lot of that up from Wesley."

"As in Wesley-Windom-Price Wesley? Are you sure? I mean the guy kinda seemed like a tool."

"It was a long time ago that you knew him, love. He came into his own. Blossomed into the research dork he was always destined to be. Besides, he had a his reason for getting this stuff right."

"Which was?"

"Fred."

"Oh my god, Wesley was gay!" Buffy gasped, a hint of laughter in her voice. "You know I kinda got that vibe from him. I didn't want to say anything, but he always seemed a little, well, prissy."

Spike laughed. "No, Fred was a bird. Winifred. When she died," Spike looked down, "when Illyria took her, Wesley, well he couldn't handle it. There was nothing he could do, she was already gone, so he decided to find out everything he could about the thing that killed her."

"Illyria?"

"I forgot you never had the pleasure, well not that it's ever really a pleasure, of meeting our very own blue meany. But Illyria was one of the Old Ones. It had been trapped in the Deeper Well, but had a nifty escape plan all worked out. The only problem was it needed a body."

Buffy shuddered. "And it took Fred."

"Yeah it took Fred. Hollowed her out and filled her up with its azure ass. And there was nothing any of us could do to stop it. It was either let Fred die or kill thousands trying to save her. And Fred, she wouldn't have wanted to be saved. Not like that. Cost was too high. But didn't stop Wes from trying to find out all he could about the rather vicious smurfette that had killed the woman loved. Searching for a vulnerability. Some point where he could crack her open and get Fred out. Did the same thing myself. Except brawling not booking. More my style."

"You sparred with her… or… it?" Buffy asked.

"Uh…yeah. Sparred. Right. Figure out her moves. Look for any weakness she might have. Which beside a complete lack of socialization, no grasp of figurative language, and very obvious deficiency in tact, there weren't many. Wes didn't come up with much either. After he had exhausted his resources about Illyria, he started reading up on other Old Ones. Not that it did him any good. Looking for answers he would never find. Bloody depressing it was."

"So, why did he tell you about all of this stuff? I mean, no offence Spike, but you're not exactly, you know, Giles. You don't really get your rocks off doing research. So, why come to you with all of this?" Her eyes widened, "You went to him, didn't you? You wanted to know what he had come up with, but you didn't want to spend all that time reading it yourself. You sly dog, you," she grinned.

Spike chuckled. "Yeah, suppose so. Showed up to Wesley's office every once in a while offering him a bottle of scotch and a shoulder to cry on." He eyed Buffy, smirking, "In a very manly, very non-poofter kinda way. Don't you go getting any ideas. Wes was in a stupor half the time as it was, didn't take much to get him talking. Actually took him more to get him to shut up. And on the days when he slurring wasn't too bad, guy had a lot of useful information to impart. Might have gone through bit of a bladdered stage for a while, but the guy knew his way around a mystical library, that's for damn sure. And again. I'd like to point out that you're all with the accusations, but once again I've saved you quite about of brain work, yeah?"

Buffy looked down. "Sorry, Spike. About the incredulity and everything. I guess I'm still getting used to smarty-pants Spike. I mean, in Sunnydale… you just, you know, never really went all Brainiac on us."

He scoffed. "Like the lot of you would have listened to anything I had to say."

She reached out and put her hand on his. "You're right. We probably wouldn't have. And I'm sorry for that too."

"Yeah, well," Spike shrugged, "made more work for all of you is all. You should probably give Giles a ring anyway. Getting him and his army of librarians looking into this all. I'm pretty sure of the what and why of it all, but the when and the how that's a different story."

"Right. He'll figure it out. He's been building up the school's library. They lost a lot of books that were, you know, Fahrenheit 451ed when The First went kablooie all along Watch Tower. Just marvel at that pop-culturiness…"

She was half-way toward her bag when she heard the crash of shattered glass. "Uh-oh," Buffy said, ducking as three… things flew screeching into the apartment. The sound of their screaming was horrible, like torture, nails on the chalk board the nth degree. Buffy instinctively covered her ears and one swooped down toward her.

"What are they?" Buffy yelled over the things' infernal shrieking. The things were hideous, terrible. They had the heads of women, their faces full of scars and boils, the flesh actually decomposing in some places. Their greasy black hair gave way to oily feathers. And gnarled, diseased looking talons. They smelt like rotting flesh.

"Do yourself a favor," Buffy said, swinging wildly at the bird-woman thing, "look into a shower once in a while. Indoor plumbing. It's big. Makes the whole personal hygiene thing way easy."

The thing cackled at her. "_Poor little Slayer. You never be enough for him_," it screeched at her. It's voice sounding of cruelty and dispair. "_He'll leave. They always leave because you're not enough to keep them._"

Buffy felt the fight draining from her. What if the thing was right? What if Spike did leave her? How could she bear to go on after losing him again?

The thing took Buffy's momentary pause to swoop down and sniff at her. "_You smell of fear and jealousy, Slayer_," it hissed. "_You're instincts are not wrong. He will abandon you. They all will._"

"_You let her die_," the thing screamed at him.

"Didn't _let_ her do anything," Spike said, his punch just missing the thing as it flew just out of his reach.

"_You couldn't save her, vampire. You weren't enough to save her. Angel on the other hand… if he had been with her she would not have died,_" It taunted him. "_You'll never be good enough. Not for her. You'll never be enough for her. You could die a thousand deaths, vampire, and save a thousand worlds, and it still would not be enough. Not for her. And you know it. That is why you didn't go to her. Because you knew you were inadequate. Never more than second best._"

"Alright, harpy, enough with the mind fuck. God, wish I had an axe or a sword," he muttered, as backing away from the harpy, he stumbled over the handle of a sword that he and Buffy, too busy getting out of their clothes to put away, had left out on the floor the night before after their fight with the dragon. "Well what do you know, big guy is looking out for me, after all."

The harpy cackled at him. "_You'll fail again, vampire. We've come to snatch flower you've been plucking. And you won't be enough to save her. Even if you kill us all, you won't save her._"

"_Slut_." The harpy had Rae backed into a corner. She did not even make a pretense of fighting, but had only managed to scramble in an attempt to get away. Which was fairly ineffective. There weren't many places to escape to in a New York City apartment.

"_Whore_." It screamed at her. "_When was the last time you spread your legs for them. We can smell the foulness on you. Harlot. Not that it can be helped, really. It is your nature. It is what you were made to do._"

"W-what do you know about my nature?" Rae asked, trembling, her voice shaking so intensely that she had trouble forming the words.

"_We know all. We see into you, slut. We know you have polluted yourself with mortals and half-breeds. You let them have you. Gave yourself to them. Let them taste you. You were made for greater things than being a vampire's concubine or a mortal man's whore._"

The thing leered closer to her. "_What did he feel when he plunged into you?_" it crooned, reaching out one of its large talons and cutting her cheek. "_Give us a taste_," it whispered, its tongue snaking out of its mouth toward the blood on her cheek. Rae cringed as she felt the rough tongue of the harpy coldly caress her check, leaving a thick trail of slobber in its wake. The thing let out a terrifying screech. "_Sisters, it is she. We have known her_." When the harpy's proclamation was met with silence instead of cackles or screams of joy, she looked around her. "_Sisters?_" Her head swiveled to the right as Buffy's axe came from the left. The head, eerily human, albeit grossly disfigured human head, rolled to Rae's feet.

"Well, they sure weren't afraid to embrace their inner yuck," Buffy said, pushing aside the harpy's head and offering Rae a hand. Behind her, she could see Spike, plunging a sword into the body of another harpy. The thing writhed for a moment, groaning, and then it a low gurgling sound as it choked on its own black blood, unable to speak.

He left the sword where it was, and wiping his hands off on his pants, moved toward the two women. "Fucking harpies. You two okay?"

"Yeah, thanks. Good call with the axe and the sword. Weapons were definitely good."

Rae could only mutely nod her head.

"Spike you get her cleaned up. I think I serious need to make that call to Giles. The sooner we get him on this, the better. I'd like to know what we're really up against before we get any more demonic visitors dropping by for a fight."

She pulled her phone out of her bag. Twenty-three missed calls from Willow. She must have left her phone on silent. And Spike had been two busy being Mr. Exposition and taking an info-dump, which, ew, never ever use that phrasing again, ever, to hear the faint vibrating of her phone. There was a text message too.

"Love, you alright there? You're looking a bit pale." Spike asked Buffy.

"I just got a text from Willow. And Joshua Knoxen... he's human."


	45. Bad Case of Harpies

**Sorry for the delay in updating. I've been having a very busy semester and, unfortunately, fan fiction has a pretty low spot on the list of priorities right now. But I did have a couple of free hours today, finally, so I got a chance to work on this. Hurray! Thank you so much to everyone who has subscribed to an alert for this story, added it as a favorite, etc. And a special thanks to everyone who has taken the time to review. Really does make my day. Hope you enjoy. **

**New York 2009**

"No. That's impossible," Rae said, shaking her head, tears springing to her eyes. "Because if he's not a demon, that means my mom… my mom... No. It's wrong. Somehow someone somewhere got it wrong. I might be a demon or a half demon or whatever, but my mom was not… she was not a monster."

"No one said she was, pet," Spike said, doing his best to sooth her.

Pity this turn of events. He didn't think the girl could handle much more of this bollocks. He had to admit he liked Rae a lot better before the bird had so many reasons for all the waterworks. Not that her life had always been all bloody sunshine and bleeding candy before, but this was bad. He couldn't blame her for all the sodden buckets of salt. Poor thing was having one hell of an initiation into their supernatural freak fraternity.

Still. He had come to prefer his women strong. Buffy, of course, exemplified that. Her bloody picture in the dictionary and all that. And Dru had her strengths too. Maybe not the kind that would punch you in the nose, like Buffy's, but she was strong, in her barmy broken way.

Although, truth be told he had been just chuffed to bits to play bloody nursemaid for Dru, hadn't he. There was something about taking care of her after that sodden mob had broken body to match her broken mind. A hundred years together and he had never felt so in love with her. He would have done anything for her. Hell, he was still wrapped around her little finger, but at least then she was dependent on him too. He didn't have to worry that she might run off with Angelus or the Immortal or Dracula the minute his fucking back was turned. Or not turned as the case might be. She had needed him then. Like Rae needed him now.

In a way he wasn't sure Buffy had needed him ever. Sure, Buffy had said that he had saved her. But he hadn't done much. He had been a shoulder to cry on. An ear to whisper in. A cock to fuck. A loyal sword arm. Anybody could have done for that. Provided, of course, that they had all those parts. But he had been there, been convenient. Hadn't been needed, but she had used him because she could.

No. He shook his head. Those damn harpies must have done more of a number on him than he had suspected. No. Buffy loved him. She hadn't always, but she did now. He had finally proven to her that he could be more to her than a dirty secret, a dark place in which she could hide. He had proven to her that he could be a man. A man who deserved to love her and deserved her love in return. He had never been perfect, had fucked things up his fair share of times, but so had she. That's why they needed each other. Loved each other. And he wasn't going to let some bird who smelt like she had spent the better part of her day bathing in the shitter tell him otherwise.

He turned to Rae, finally feeling strong enough to deal with the latest bloody crisis. "No one is saying anything. We just need more information is all. Buffy will get this sorted out, yeah?"

Buffy nodded. "Yeah, I'll give Will a call back. We're probably just missing something, or something like that. We'll figure this out." She had no idea what this girl must be going through. Like Rae, Buffy had lost her mother way too young. But her mother had lived and died a human. If someone came along and told her that Joyce had been… something other than human… Buffy shuddered. "I promise you, we will figure this out," she repeated firmly.

"Right," Spike added. "And while Buffy phones Red, I want to get this cut cleaned up. Know you're regeneration girl or whatever, but don't want to even think about what kind of microscopic nasties were living on those things. Those birdbags had some fucking dirty mouths."

"Yeah, sure. Okay," Rae said vaguely. Her eyes unfocused, looking beyond him.

Spike put his hands on her shoulders, peering into her face intently. "Listen, I know your gutted about your mum and all, but we need you stay with us, alright Rae. You've had to deal with a lot of shit, most of it supernatural, the past twenty-four hours, lamb. I get it. But we can't have you checking out. Understand?"

She nodded, her eyes clearer, refocused. "Yeah. I'm sorry. It's just been…"

"Pretty heavy on the whole forces of darkness and the end of the worldiness?" Buffy finished. "Not to mention the whole finding out that you're different. At least from what you thought you were. Which was normal. Yeah. It's a whole load of shit. Actually like three loads of shit. Like the shit keeps getting delivered and the shit pile keeps getting bigger and bigger, and every time you think, 'Whoa, that pile of shit can't possibly get any bigger,' somebody shows up with another shit special delivery. But Spike and I need you to stay in this, okay. Because we are probably going to need your help saving the world, even if that just means helping us protect you by not becoming catatonic or completely losing it and getting all tweaky. We really so can not have you freaking yet." She paused. "No pressure, though."

Rae smiled. "Right. The fate of the world and all of humanity. No biggy. How do you guys do this like once a year?"

"It gets easier with practice," Buffy shrugged. "Actually, wait. No, it really doesn't. But it is this whole destiny thing. So choice not a big part of it. I mean you do have a choice. There is always a choice. But when it's between doing whatever is necessary to save the world, or not and letting everything die, leaving people to suffer, condemning this world to hell. The choice is pretty easy. You'll see when the time comes," she added.

"I hope so," Rae said looking down. "I'm not… I'm just not that strong. I've never been… strong."

"You're stronger than you know. And, I mean, if Andrew could man up when it came down to it, pretty sure anyone can. Now, let Spike take a look at that cut, and I'll give Willow a call, find out what's going on."

Poor girl, Buffy thought, as she watched Spike lead her to the bathroom. She didn't ask to be thrown into this thing. Well, it wasn't like Buffy had asked to be the Slayer. Part of the fun of being the Chosen One was that it wasn't you who got to do the choosing. No, it was just thrust onto some poor unsuspecting girl. Some poor girl who didn't know her own strength. But at least the strength was there. Super Slayer strength. And at least she had been thrust into this world with a way to defend herself. She might have been forced to fight against the darkness, but at least she had a way of keeping it at bay. Rae had been thrown into this world with nothing. Sure, she healed super fast, which was something, but she was wicked vulnerable. Didn't matter how fast you healed if you were dead. And she wouldn't be very hard to make dead if the right nasty came along.

And she understood that that was the reason why Spike was being all uber-protection guy. He saw her vulnerability and was just trying to keep her safe. He knew better than anyone how to do that. Protect her from all of the aspects of their world: the psychological along with the fangy, scaly, nasty, and green. But… God it was hard to see him like that with another woman. Especially that other woman. Because they were so easy together. There was no one thing that she could point to, but she saw it. It was in the way they spoke, moved, looked. There was just this unnerving familiarity between them.

She felt a chill run through her. She blamed it on the cold air blowing through the windows the Harpies had broken to make their entrance. It was a good thing that this side of the building didn't get direct sunlight because otherwise Spike might have been flambéed. And then seeing him with the other woman would seriously be the least of her problems.

God, she hated it. And hated herself for hating it. Because she knew she should trust Spike. He had never given her any reason not. And yet… there was this part of her that just couldn't, that part of her that was sure that what that harpy had said was true. Sure the thing was totally icky, but what if it had been completely right. That he would leave her. Like they all did. That at some point, for some reason, he would decided that she just wasn't worth it, that something better had come along, that when it came down to it he would leave her because that what they all did.

Which was bullshit, because he wouldn't do that to her.

Which just went to show how amazingly fucked up she was. No wonder no man managed to stick around. She was a total disaster. And she thought that she had been doing better. She thought that she had finally gotten over the fear of abandonment thing that had left her completely crippled and relationship-ally challenged for so long. She had just begun really opening herself up to Spike, really letting herself love him. Really letting herself be happy. And then this whole thing with Rae happened. And then she freaked. Again. But she was doing better again too. He had helped her to see how deeply, how completely he loved her. And then the harpies had come along and fucked her up again.

She needed to stop doing this. She needed to stop doubting him. Stop doubting herself. If they were going to win whatever war they were getting themselves into, she was going to have to stop with the overanalyzing and the paranoia. She was going to just have to love him, trust him, and hope that they survived this thing, whatever it was.

She was also going to have to call Willow.

She picked up her phone and dialed.

"Sorry I missed your call, Will. We were dealing with a pretty nasty harpy attack when you called."

"Are you guys okay?" Willow asked, clearly concerned. "Those things can be pretty gross."

"No kidding. Major ick. But Spike and I took care of it."

"You know, Buffy. There is no cure for harpies. But there are some treatments that can help minimize break-outs."

"H-A-rpies, Will. Emphasis on the 'a.'"

"I know. I know. What? Xander is the only one allowed to make immature sex jokes?" Willow pouted.

"No. Actually nobody is allowed to make immature sex jokes…"

"'Cept for me," Spike yelled from the bathroom where he was trying to find some Neosporin to put on Rae's scratch.

"… Except for Spike," Buffy continued. "Although he's not actually allowed to either," she said, lowering her voice. "I just haven't found a way to get him to stop yet."

"I heard that. Vamp hearing remember, love," Spike yelled again.

He grinned at Rae, who was sitting on the toilet watching Spike rummage through an extremely large first aid kit.

"So, uh, Boy Scouts of America have nothing on you with the whole preparedness thing."

"Yeah, well. When you're in our line bumps and scrapes tend to look a bit more like fractures and breaks. Can't hit up the hospital each time a fight does go as well as you had planned. Besides, heroes get bloody awful HMOs. Better to just patch yourself up best you can. Least Buffy and I heal up pretty quickly. Not as quickly as you though," he wetted a wash cloth and wiped the drying blood on her cheek. The cut had not started to close up yet, but it was expelling some pretty bad smelling yellow liquid. Probably pus or venom or something vile. "You feeling alright, pet?"

"Fine. I mean in the physical sense. Up here," she used two fingers to tap on her temple, "not so much."

"Head stuff always is tougher. Broken bodies, well, they mend, but when stuff starts getting psychological, well, that's when it turns into a bloody mess. But you can handle this, Rae. You might not be physically strong, like me and Buffy, but you've got your strength. Plus you love this world more than anyone I've ever met. You're always trying to save it, right, that's why you buy all that sustainable organic shit and are all worried about the whales and the rainforests and the ozone layer and the polar ice caps, and whatever fucking else you get all worked up about. Well, nows your chance to do something bigger than all that. You got a chance to really make a difference. That's why Buffy keeps on with this. She could retire, you know, she's put in her time and then some, but she likes it too much, the world saving bizz. Even if she never gets any credit for it, she'll keep doing it, keeps fighting the fight, because she knows that she is making a difference. Now this is gonna sting a bit, pet," he said, pressing another washcloth with hydrogen peroxide against the cut.

"Why do you do?" she asked quietly. Not really wanting to hear him talk about Buffy any more than she had to. She was grateful to him, to both of them, for the help they had given her, and, frankly, for the kindness they had shown to her. Especially Buffy, who, despite being very scary had actually been, well, really nice in a way that Rae found comforting and a bit disconcerting. Because the still being pretty much in love with Spike would be so much easier if she could at least hate the woman he loved.

Logically, it was better, she supposed, that she didn't hate her. That she see could why he loved her. Why he had left her so quickly in order to be with his Slayer. At least he had left her to be with someone who deserved love like his. It should make it easier for her to see them together, seeing how well they fit, how fiercely they loved.

It should.

But it didn't.

So, Buffy had been right about the shit piling up. But it wasn't just the supernatural stuff that had her wishing she had finished that bottle of Jack that Spike had brought out earlier. She wondered where it was, and if she could somehow drink enough to pass out or at least black out. Anything would be better, at this point, than trying to deal with… quite honestly, everything.

"Don't rightly know, you know. With Buffy it's about saving everything she loves, her family, her friends, you know. With Angel it's all about his everlasting quest for bloody redemption. With me… don't know. Started with love, with making sure that she, that everyone was safe, but it's not just that. Reckon I just like the fight, yeah. That or it's just a bad habit I haven't gotten around to breaking," he drawled.

"You are such a liar," and she smiled looking into his eyes.

Fuck, she wanted to kiss him.

She wouldn't, but, god, she wanted to.

Slut, the harpies had called her, screeched at her, their words stinging as sharply as their talons. Told her it was part of her nature.

It wasn't the first time she had been called a slut, a whore, an easy piece of ass. She had earned that reputation in high school and then after high school too. When she was younger, she couldn't help herself. The urge filled her, consumed her, with the need to be with somebody. The need to have that closeness, that moment of escape from the world. So she slept with whomever. Most of the time it didn't matter whom. She was a purist, interested in the act, not the person she did it with. For her, it was never about him. It was always her, her desire, her need, her craving to be filled.

She blamed it on beer and whiskey. On drugs and daddy issues. But it wasn't any of those things.

It was her.

It was her nature.

While still in high school, she learned that it was easier if she just had a boyfriend. It cut back on the names being whispered in hallways. It removed her name from bathroom stalls and from being tossed around the boy's locker room.

It was easier back then, but it wasn't love. Even when he, who ever he was at the time, would pant those words into her hair, she knew it wasn't.

And then she had gone to college. And had started sleeping around again. Because it was college and it, she, had never been so easy.

And then it was love. The for real and forever kind. She had somehow stumbled into its bed, and he been there with her in the morning. And then the night after that. And the morning after that. And the night after that. And the morning again. And it was more than just an emptiness inside of her, that needed to be filled. It was more than just an ache in her groin, but the fullness of her heart.

And then he died such a meaningless death. Sacrificed himself for a thirty rack of beer.

The emptiness that had threatened to consume her. There had been no body to bury. That had been lost in the fire that had taken so much away from her and left her nothing, not even remains. But there had been a service. And after the service there had been whiskey. And there had been Theo, Dem's best friend. And there had been that first tentative and desperate kiss, so full of ach and sorrow and need that neither of them could pull away from it. And then there had been his hands on her breasts. And then there had been her shirt being pulled over her head and her hands on the zipper of his jeans and his fingers pushing the fabric of her panties aside and rubbing her clit and then had been his hard cock pushing inside of her. And then afterwards there had been so much guilt that they couldn't look at each other. But that hadn't stopped them from going to each other in the darkness and fucking with the lights out.

Everyone found out about it, of course. Her roommates heard him come and go in the night. And his housemates heard her light tread, eerily familiar but wrong as it passed by Dem's closed door.

Then there was the night when Robbie confronted Theo. He, Theo, and Dem had been roommates, freshman year, and from there had been nearly inseparable. They had started a band together, got wasted together, even failed calc together.

Theo was hanging out with Robbie and some of the other guys. They were drinking some beer, smoking some pot, trying to forget what they had lost and enjoy their last month of being seniors.

"So, you and Rae, huh?" Robbie had said, forced casualness in his voice.

"Shit, man," Theo had replied. "Really don't want to talk about."

"Yeah well. Nobody's talking about it. Everyone's hearing it, but nobody has the balls to say how fucked up it is."

"Leave it alone, Robbie."

"Fuck no, man. It's fucked up. You know it. That's why you fucking failed to mention it to everyone. Shit, Theo. He wasn't dead a week, man."

"You don't understand."

"Like fuck I don't."

"We're grieving, okay? It's fucked up what happened to Dem. And it fucking shouldn't have. And it fucked the both of us up."

"And, what, banging is the way to make it all better?"

"No, man. It's not like that…. It just…when I'm with her… it just helps is all."

"Well, I'm sad about Dem. Maybe I should fuck his girl too. Do you think there is enough of that bandaid pussy to go around? Because I've been feeling really shitty myself. Maybe all I need to do is get deep in the cunt my dead best friend's girl."

At that point Theo punched him, hitting him square in the jaw. Robbie was surprised for a second, before returning the punch and breaking Theo's nose. The two men threw themselves into the fight, fueled by anger and alcohol, until Robbie hit his head against the kitchen table and crumpled into unconsciousness.

He came to in a few seconds.

Theo never again went to Rae, and she never again came to him.

From then on Rae settled for one night stands. They were more dangerous, it was true, but they were also anonymous and that had it own kind of safety in it. She could go out and satiate the urge that burned within her and in the morning, she was always free.

And then she had met Spike. She had noticed him their first class together. Thought him attractive, found him insightful, witty, smart, which only added to his attractiveness. Then he had asked her out, and she had accepted, although part of her resisted. With him it wouldn't be anonymous, and there was something about him that suggested that it also wouldn't be safe. But she had accepted him and spent rest of the night trying to figure him out. And when he didn't try to sleep with her that night, she was even more confused. But she really enjoyed his company, his sardonic humor and the startling earnestness in his eyes, so continued to see him after class, nights spent trying to puzzle out exactly what game he was playing and why she didn't seem to know the rules.

And then she found out what he was. And found out that to her it didn't matter.

And then she knew what it was like to sleep with a vampire.

She had never experienced that, of course, or else she probably wouldn't still be alive. It was like nothing she had ever known. His skill, his stamina, and his hunger that matched her own. For the first time in her life, she finally felt satisfied.

When she realized she had fallen in love with him, it terrified her. But by that point, she knew she couldn't leave.

And then there was the day that he had told her that he loved her, dropped in a sentence and said so casually that at first she thought that she had misheard him. By that point, she knew there wasn't anywhere she wanted to go.

In the end, she hadn't needed to be the one who left. He drifted away from her, caught up in a pull that was so much stronger than hers. She knew that there was nothing she could do to fight it, so she had watched wordless, helpless, as he faded from her. She had given him that final push out the door, because, in the end, she knew he wouldn't, he couldn't, stay.

And she had started sleeping with Chris. She had lied to Spike when she had told him that she and her advisor had entered into their relationship with no illusions. They had each had their reasons. Chris believed that he was in love with her, but all he really wanted was a mid-life crisis cliché. He loved his wife, his kids, the cozy little life that he had built. He just wanted one last sexual adventure before he was too old for anyone to want to fuck. She had held the delusion that Chris could fill the space, the hollowness inside her, that Spike had left. But after being with Spike, Chris was too warm and sweaty and soft to really do much of anything for her. Yet, she still continued to see him, to sleep with him, to let him indulge in his delusions even if hers had been destroyed.

And, now that Spike was there, right in front of her, and she wanted nothing more than to lose herself in him again. Forget the world, the danger she was in, the mystery of who she was. He could make all of that go away for her.

She was a horrible person for wanting that, she knew, but she couldn't help herself.

So, maybe those bird ladies had been right. She was a slut and whore and a harlot who would spread her legs for anyone. Maybe there was something fundamentally wrong with her. Maybe the hunger was just her nature. Maybe she could not help but be a slut.

"You're cheeks already bout healed," Spike said.

"Huh?" Rae asked, she had been so lost in her own thoughts that she hadn't even noticed him applying the Neosporin or putting away the suitcase of first aid supplies. "Oh, yeah, cheek. Better. That's good. Or not. Depending on what this whole healy thing is all about."

"So," Buffy said, "how do you know Knoxen's human? What did you find?"

Willow sighed. "It said so on his profile."

"Like facebook? Because, I mean, he was doing a pretty good job passing. And you know how much the privacy settings on that site suck."

"Yeah," Willow laughed. "It's weird. Apparently he is also a fan of the apocalypse and likes eating babies and grammatically incorrect cats. It's amazing what you can find out about someone from their facebook page. Not to mention his myspace account. That's where you can dig up all the really juicy dirt. No, Buffy, his company profile at Wolfram & Hart."

"So you were able to hack it?"

"Kinda."

"Meaning?"

"Well, it's been a while since I've done this kind of thing. And Wolfram & Hart is not exactly easy nut to crack, you know. So, it took me a while to get into their system. And I was able to access the most public secret info they have. And according to that profile, species: human."

"But it might not be true?"

"Well, there are plenty of other security levels for me to get through. Some of them are magically encrypted, so it might take me a while to get to them. But, Buffy, I don't see why they would lie on their own super secure system."

"They're Wolfram & Hart, Will, since when do they need an excuse to do something evil. Get cracking and let me know when you find out some more about this guy."

"Sure thing Buff. Let me know if there is anything else I can do. I missed this Scooby assists."

"Me too. Thanks Will. Bye."

"Good luck. Bye."

Buffy hung up her phone as Rae and Spike walked out of the bathroom.

"You're cheek looks better," Buffy observed.

"Yeah. I guess the next injury should be scheduled for pretty soon," Rae returned with a weak smile.

"Watch what you wish for. So don't want to jinx yourself."

"You're not kidding," she paused for a moment. "What did you find out about my father?"

Buffy felt herself hesitate. Willow had sounded pretty sure. But then, there was always the possibility that she could be wrong. She didn't want to get Rae's hopes up, whatever those hopes might be, but she also didn't want to dash them before she was sure she had to.

"We're not really sure," she said slowly. "Willow is still working on cracking their encryption. She has broken through into the first level, but for all we know that just a decoy. So, we're still waiting to find out."

"So, what's the plan for us while Red's working her computer mojo?" Spike drawled.

"I honestly hadn't gotten that far with the planning." She looked at the broken windows. "We need to do something about those, unless we want to freeze to death in our sleep. Well," she continued, "looking at Spike, those of us who can freeze to death. You'll just turn into a vampsicle." The she blushed, picturing the way that Spike leered way too sexily at her, imagining the innuendos he might make about her tongue melting him, and hoping that he had enough sense not to say anything of the sort in front of Rae.

He didn't.

"Do you think it's safe to stay here?" Rae asked. "I mean, even if we do solve the freezing to death problem."

"Oh yeah. Safe as houses," Spike replied sarcastically. "Houses with big bloody broken windows and flashing neon signs pointing the way for the baddies to come get you, whatever you are."

"Where else could we go?" Buffy asked.

"We could go to Brooklyn. My place. At least there would be a lot more room for everyone," Rae offered. "And I have to get back there soon, anyway. I am going to have a couple of very pissed off, very hungry kitties."

"Not sure that's safe either, pet. Whatever is after you, if they found you hear, likely they'll find you there just the same."

"Then they'll find me anywhere. And if no place is really going to be safe, then I think I would like to be home."

"I'm not exactly loving this plan," Buffy said. She hated this plan. Loathed this plan. Despised it. If there was one place that she definitely did not want to go it was Rae's apartment. The same apartment where Rae had lived with Spike for three years. "Besides, we don't even know if any other evil has plans to drop by to- ." A knock on the door interrupted her. "Day," she finished weakly.


	46. Side Effects

**Sorry for the complete lack of updates this past month. Life has been pretty hectic, and I have not had much time to write. But I finally had a few hours for myself, and I do hope you enjoy. **

**As always thanks for all the reviews. **

**New York, 2009**

"That's probably not even evil," Buffy said quickly. "I mean evil is usually not so much with the knocking. It's really more with the dramatic entrances. The breaking of doors, the smashing of windows. That sort of thing."

"Hey! I resent that. Vampires happen to be very well bloody mannered. Most of the time at least. Maybe not in, you know, public spaces. But when it comes to folks' homes, we happen to show a great deal of restraint."

Buffy looked at him flatly, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "That's because you need an official invite. You're not polite, you're threshold impaired."

"Well, that ought to at least count for something."

The knock repeated itself.

"Okay," Rae said, "so this kinda creepy 'tapping, as if some one gently rapping,' is probably not evil. So that's a good thing, right?"

"Probably," said Buffy, "Maybe…" she continued with less conviction. "Hopefully?"

"Then shouldn't we see who's there?" Rae asked warily.

"You expecting anyone, love?" Spike asked Buffy.

"Other than a couple of demons busting in, and that one vamp posing as a pizza boy, which by the way, lame, have I ever had anyone drop by for late afternoon coffee or evening drinks? Hardly anyone has this address. I mean, maybe it's written on a few underworld bathroom stalls: For a Dead Time see Buffy, Slayer. But, I don't exactly have people over."

"Which brings us back again to the evil," Rae sighed.

They heard the knock again. Louder. More instant.

Spike grabbed a broad sword and tossed it to Buffy. He gave a dagger to Rae, which she clutched, although he knew there was actually very little that she could do with it, and picked up a battle axe for himself.

"Alright, then," he said. "Let's see whose come a'calling, shall we."

And he opened the door.

"Oh, bloody hell," Spike grumbled.

Buffy, at the same moment said, "You have so got to be kidding me."

Standing in the doorway was the doctor from the ER, suddenly grown very pale at the sight of all the weapons, which he had not been expecting. Buffy made a move to shut the door, but the doctor had already jammed his foot across the threshold.

"I just came to see how the patient was doing," the doctor said quickly, uneasily, his eyes shifting from Rae, to Buffy and Spike, then back to Rae.

He was dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt, that didn't seem all that effective for keeping out the November chill. He looked drawn, haggard, and there was something wild in his eyes that frightened Rae and put Buffy and Spike on their guard.

"Yeah, well she's fine. And not that we don't appreciate the house call, doc, but it's time for you toddled on home, yeah?"

"How did you even know how to find us?" Rae asked.

The doctor shrugged, warily eying Spike. "The ambulance records."

"I knew we should have just fucking walked," said Buffy. She was so not in the mood for this. "You seriously need to leave. Like right nowish."

"Yeah, doc," Spike continued, "you really don't want to be here right now."

"It's… it isn't safe," Rae added. She didn't like the way he was looking at her. Like he was trying to peer into her in a way that made her feel threatened and exposed. His probing curiosity was frantic, and very not scientific, and it scared her.

"You can't hurt me any more than you already have," the doctor said gravely.

"Willing to test that theory," Spike said, hefting up his axe, so that the doctor could get a good look at it. "Never been on real friendly terms with the white coats myself."

"Spike. Wait." Rae looked at the doctor, ignoring Spike's posturing. "What do you mean?" She asked. "How have we hurt you?"

"Listen," the doctor said, "I know you're not human. I have proof. I need to know what you are."

"Can we not go through the whole Monster Quest thing again?" Buffy sighed. "We're human, doc."

"No, listen. I know. I was being stupid at the hospital last night. Paranoid, even. I wanted to know. But now I _need_ to."

"What you need to do is make your exit," Buffy replied. "Lab coats kinda clash with our whole look here. Trust me on this. They're pretty unmixy."

"Good for you I'm in my civies," the doctor said with a faint smile.

Rae shook her head. "I think she was being metonymic."

"And the hell is that?" the doctor asked, suddenly noticing the body one of one of the Harpies.

"It's a, uh, props. We're in a play. Or something. With weapons and super special effects and things. It's very methody," Buffy fumbled. "Let's keep the focus on why you're here."

He looked warily from the Harpy back to Buffy. "Listen. It's not for me. It's for my wife."

"What are you on about, mate?" Spike demanded. "Getting right sick of the obliqueness."

"Yeah," Buffy added. "What does your wife have to do with this little occult obsession of yours?"

Figuring that Rae was likely the most sympathetic ear he was likely to get the doctor looked to her. "Last night. Or, rather, early this morning I left the hospital. But I, uh, brought some of your, uh, blood home with me. I saw they way you healed, and I though, um, that it could, you know, help her. She's been very sick. It's her blood. It's failing. We've tried everything. Medications, transfusion, even a marrow transplant. Nothing works. The doctors, we… we can't figure out what's wrong with her. But she doesn't have long to live. That they, we, are sure of. And the pain. She is in so much pain. "

Buffy sighed. "Please do not say what I think you're going to saying."

The doctor swallowed audibly. "I took the blood… and I… I, um, injected her."

"Shit. You had to say it, didn't you?"

"Sodding stupid wanker you are," Spike hissed, glowering at the man. "What the bloody hell were you thinking?"

"Serious doctor," Buffy continued, "Like how mentally challenged are you?"

"I know it was stupid, okay. What other choices do I have?"

"You have the choice not to inject people with bizarro blood. That's always an option."

"She is going to die," the man sobbed. "So, yes, it might have killed her. I know that. I understand the risks. It's like any experimental drug. But, I thought that it might just have the power to save her. And that would have been worth it."

"Bollocks," Spike swore. "You don't understand a bloody thing, doc. Her blood isn't some experimental drug waiting FDA approval. We don't know what the hell it is, and you don't have a fucking clue."

"I had to try," the doctor replied resolutely. "Even, worst case scenario it kills her…"

"Which is exactly why you shouldn't be buggering around with strange blood and things you don't understand," Spike cut him off. "There are some fates worse than death, mate. Sometimes it's just best to let 'em go, you know."

"Spike…" Rae started, her tone soft, caring, warm, but he shook his head.

Still a look passed between the two of them, and something Buffy did not understand. Spike was clearly referring to something, but what that was… she couldn't tell, didn't know. But Rae did. That was why she had gone all empathy girl. It was another thing that the two of them had shared of which Buffy had no part. Another way that Spike had let this other woman in and had kept her out.

"I think that Dr. Dumbass has realized that already," she said, her tone stinging and harsh. She couldn't lash out at Spike, not in front of the Rae and not in front of the doctor, but at least the man provided a surrogate for her anger. And she was sensing that whatever she threw at him, he probably deserved. "Otherwise he wouldn't be here. What happened when you shot your wife up with Rae's super-blood?"

The doctor cleared his throat. "I injected her. Only a few drops to start. I wasn't sure of what her body's reaction would be."

"Good. Glad to here you were playing it safish," Buffy interrupted him sarcastically.

"At first, it was like a miracle. Her pain was completely gone. Not only gone. She was, uh, euphoric. God, it was like she had, um, never felt pain in her life. And her body responded positively. White cell count up. Red cells, too. It was a miracle, a, uh, medical miracle, there is no other way to describe then."

"Then what?" Spike asked flatly.

The man swallowed loudly again. "After an hour, the blood, uh, it started to wear off. She became irritable, screaming at me, while begging me for another injection. She was sweating, her heart pounding, and she was having difficulty breathing. And the pain was back. Worse than before. I could see it gripping her, and she begged and begged me for more blood. She said that the blood, it was the only thing that had made her feel at peace since her illness began," he shook his head. "She said a lot of things, but, um, she didn't mean them, those things she said. She was just in so much pain. So I gave her another injection….more this time, and she settled down immediately, all of the tension, the torment, leaving her body. But in an hour, again, she needed more. Each time I gave her more, hoping that it would, uh, hold her longer, maybe permanently, but it only lasted an hour…" 

"And now you're out of my blood."

He nodded. "I've run out. I didn't have much in the, uh, sample we took. I was thought… I was hoping… that it would… would cure her."

"You stupid sod. You got your wife stoned on mystical magical blood, and now she's strung out, and you don't have her next fix, is that it?"

"Seriously doctor. You can't possibly be surprised that this didn't work out the way you wanted. You thought you were going to Clare Bennet your wife to health?" Buffy demanded. "It doesn't work like that in the real world."

"What do you want from me?" Rae asked nervously. "Why did you come here?"

"Isn't it obvious? I need more blood. I can't leave my wife like this. The pain, the withdrawal, will kill her. And seeing her like this… it would kill me too."

"I can't let you do that," Buffy said. Her expression stony. "I'm sorry, I am, but I can't. We don't know what that blood is doing to your wife. Clearly it's giving her one hell of a high and really really really nasty withdrawalness. I'm sorry that your wife went all Requiem for a Dream, and that you need to live with that, but we can't be sure what else the blood is doing. It could be changing her into something. Something nasty and dangerous and bad."

"But, she isn't evil," the doctor said frantically, pointing to Rae. "I mean look at her. She isn't. She just isn't."

"Just because she's not evil doesn't mean that she can't be used for evil," Buffy looked to Spike, who nodded. Good. He was on her side on this. Which was good. She hadn't been thinking all that rationally when it came to Rae, and as much as she hated to admit it, she needed him to reassure her that she was on the right track. Eight years ago, if someone had told her that Spike would be moral compass, she would have laughed and been horrified, and probably would have punched that someone in the face. Funny how things changed. At least she felt pretty sure that this time, at least, she was pointed due good.

"I've seen it," she continued. "I mean, don't even get me started on my sister. Lovely girl. Mystical green energy key thingy. Big bad skanky hell god wanted to use her to do a whole lotta evil." The doctor looked at her in disbelief for a minute, but she figured it was time to drop the façade. He had pretty much already ordered his subscription to _Everyone Think's We're Insane-O's Home Journal_.

"The blood isn't going to heal your wife, mate," Spike added. "If it was, it woulda happened already. Upping the dose is just going to hurt her. More than you already have. Make the grip of addiction tighter, the agony of withdrawal worse."

"If I don't give her more blood, it will kill her," the doctor yelled. "Listen, I don't want to kill the girl. I just need to take some of her blood."

"You can't kill her, mate. If you do, you're supply will run dry, and then where will you be. Prowling the ER looking for another regeneration girl. Good luck with that."

"How much do you need?" Rae asked softly.

The doctor moved toward her. "Not much a few pints for…"

"No," Buffy said shaking her head. "No. Rae, I understand you want to help this man…"

"His wife is in pain. And it's my fault," Rae said, guilt tearing at her voice.

"Listen to me Rae, it is not your fault. He injected her with your blood. If anyone is faulty it's him. You cannot blame yourself for their pain. And you want to help his wife. I get it. It's not her fault she married a total moral. He's an MD; they're supposed to be smart and everything. But you giving her blood, it's not only to help her. It's just enablage. And it's… it's wrong."

"If she wants to give me her blood, who the fuck to you think you are to stop her."

"We're the ones with the medieval armory, mate. You know, all these very sharp and nasty and pretty intimating weapons will probably stop the whole mad scientist song and dance right quick."

"You wouldn't hurt me."

"To protect Rae, not to mention your wife, from you," Buffy took a step toward him. "Yeah, we would. Go home to your wife, doctor. Take care of her until the withdrawal passes."

"And if it doesn't pass?" the doctor asked desperately.

"You paved this road for yourself, doc. All those bloody good intentions, not surprising where they've lead you."

The man looked to Rae. "Won't you help me? Please. I'm begging you. There has to be a reason why you came to me. It was fate. You're supposed to help me save my wife." 

"You're right," Rae said sadly. She paused. "And so is Buffy. And I'll help you save your wife, which is why I can't give you what you want." Rae turned to walk into the bedroom, away from the doctor's pleading, his desperate, imploring looks.

He watched her go, his body slumping, his strength leaving him with his hope. Then he looked at Buffy, and he felt the power of his body return to him, not through hope, but through the blind, seething rage he felt. "You fucking bitch," he growled. "You've killed her. You've fucking murdered my wife. Bitch. Fucking. Killer." He launched himself at her, wildly swinging his fists in her direction.

Buffy tossed her sword, which had been dangling at her side, to the floor, a safe distance away. "I'm not a killer," she said calmly. "And I won't let you be one either." She blocked a punch. "Because I'm the Slayer." She blocked another. "And it's my job to protect humanity." She grabbed one wrist, then the other, and holding them both firmly, she head butted him. He crumpled to the floor unconscious. "Even when it's from their own stupidity."

She looked at the unconscious man on the floor. "Well that was anti-climatic-y."

"Is in gone?" Rae called from the bedroom.

"In the figurative sense," Buffy answered. "You're safe from him for now."

"So, he's unconscious…. again?"

"Yeah, that seems to be the only way to deal with the bloke," Spike grinned.

"I'm sorry I scurried away. I just needed to be… not near him."

"You did right, lamb. Buffy handled him, or rather headed him, fine on her own."

"Well, at least we know that my blood is apparently V-ish. Except, you know, minus the vampire part. And hopefully minus the weird sex side effect part. Because I really hope that poor woman is not having… uh… you know... That would bad and really… ick and a little bit bleh. But knowing at least about the opiateness and the addictiveness, that's helpful, right? Maybe? Dr. Horrible might have helped a little?"

"Well, at this point it clarifies just about nothing. But, it may be a clue. Although I wouldn't go so far as to suggest that Doc here did us any favors," Buffy replied.

"So, what do we do with him?" Rae asked, cringing at the sight of the unconscious man.

"He'll come to in an hour or so, probably with one hell of a headache. Probably not a bad idea to have Houdinied ourselves out of here by then."

"I think you're right," Buffy sighed. "Brooklyn it is. Spike, start packing up the weapons. I've really got to call Giles."


	47. Luggage and Baggage

**Sorry this update has been so long in coming. I had it half done for weeks, and I only now had time to finish it. I do hope you enjoy. As always, thanks to everyone who reviewed, added this story to their favorites, and subscribed for an alert. **

**Also, this story has just passed it one year birthday. So, thanks to all of you who have been following since the beginning and those of you who have joined along the way. **

**New York 2009**

"So, her only known abilities are rapid healing and apparently addictive narcotic blood?"

"Yeah, Giles. That pretty much sums her up," Buffy said pulling cloths out of her closet, hangers and all. "Although I'm not even sure the blood thing even counts as a power. Really it seems way more like a liability. I mean, the doctor was pretty harmless, especially compared to a Slayer and a vamp, but if something nastier out there got a taste of her Electric-Koolaid-Acid-Blood… it could be very… ungood."

"I tend to agree. A blood with those opiate qualities could prove quite dangerous for her."

"Probably. I mean, I'm sure there are plenty of beasties out there who would love to potato chip her."

"Potato chip her?" Giles asked in an incredulous tone that Buffy always found especially British.

"You know, like you can't eat just one.

He was silent for a moment. "And Spike, uh, doesn't seem to have a theory about it?"

"Potato chipping?"

"No, about this girl. I'm trying to change the subject to matters more pressing than your baffling misuse of the English language."

"Oh, no need to get snippy. Well, I told you what he said about the uberdemon stuff. If he has any other theories, he is not exactly making with the forthcomingness, which makes me think that he's got nothing. He was pretty explicatey about everything else." She dumped forced the clothes into a duffel bag. "Please tell me that you have some sort of an inkling. Even a tiny inkling. A tinkling."

"I'm a-afraid I'm, uh, unsure."

"But have something to go off of? At least a pile of books to start, you know, piling. Something?" she paused. "Of course you do, you're Giles."

"While I do have a few ideas, I must admit that I find this all, well, confounding. I can't even recall ever reading anything about a demon with these characteristics. It's quite a puzzle. Are you sure there is nothing else you can tell me?"

"Nada. Super healage. Trippy blood. That's all we got."

"And her appearance."

"Pretty."

"Pretty what?"

"Pretty pretty."

"There are no…"

"What? Like horns or scales or claws or a tail? God, I kinda wish there was, but tragically negative, Giles. She looks like any other annoyingly-normal-irritatingly-attractive human woman."

"I didn't mean to upset you, Buffy."

She sighed. "I know. It's just… this whole thing… it kind of majorly sucks."

"Because of Spike and the woman's past, uh, relationship."

"Bingo. For an old guy you're really making with the insightfulness," she teased.

"Well, I have a dim memory of what it was like to be young once," he replied. "But, I though that it was fairly clear that Spike had made his choice."

"So was I. I mean, I am. He did. He chose me. It's just part of me feels like, I don't know, maybe he didn't, you know. Maybe he felt like he should be with me, because of Sunnydale, everything. But maybe if it hadn't been for all that history, the choosing wouldn't be so easy… And, god, this is probably the last thing you want to be hearing right now."

"I admit that I was never completely comfortable with Spike, after the chip and, admittedly, even after the soul. I can't deny that I doubted your judgment, Buffy. But I also can admit when I misjudge a situation. And Spike was, oddly, one of those situations. I realize that you are feeling insecure, and that these feeling are only exacerbated by the close proximity of this young woman, but Buffy if there is one thing that I have learned about that vampire is that he was one of the most stubborn creatures I have ever met. He even gives you a run for your money, which I do believe is saying something. If he has chosen you then I think you're stuck with him."

Buffy smiled slightly to herself. "I think your right, Giles. Its just… he shared things with her that, like, I'll never know. And I know I don't know everything he did as a vampire, and I am really okay with that. But this is different. Because he was happy and ensouled and it is totally closed off to me. And I don't think that I want to know about it any more than I want to know what he did when he was evil, because I'm afraid to know how happy he was and to figure out that it is happier than I can make him. And I'm afraid that going back to her house, that it will bring all of those memories back to him… and I'm afraid he'll change his mind. And when have I ever been this afraid, Giles? I used to be able to just shut all this feeling stuff off."

"If I recall correctly you were also afraid that you were losing your ability to love. Part of loving, Buffy, is making yourself venerable, something that, I daresay, goes against every instinct that you have as a Slayer."

"I'm not sure I'm loving the whole loving thing…" she whined.

"Buffy, the number of times you've faced almost certain death, actually death twice, to save the world… this is nothing. It may be new, but I trust in your strength and courage to get you through this trial as well."

"Thanks. Somehow you always manage to make me feel better Giles."

"I rather think it's the blind praise that does the trick," he said dryly.

"I like to think of it as well deserved thank you very much." She paused. "But really, seriously, thanks. I love you Giles."

"I love you too Buffy. Alright, well, I need to assemble a research team to start investigating this mystery girl."

"Don't forget the donuts. Sugar does the research good."

"Goodbye, Buffy, and good luck."

"Bye Giles," Buffy hung up the phone. "I'm so going to need it," she said to herself as she thought again about the prospect of going Rae's house, to Brooklyn.

"Are we just going to leave him here?" Rae asked, motioning to the doctor. Spike was just finishing filling up a couple of military surplus duffle bags with Buffy's weapons. She hadn't brought her whole arsenal, which was good, but her weapons, when combined with the few Spike kept with him, meant that they had their own military surplus. Lucky for them, Buffy had done most of her packing in these kinds of bags because they were roomy, durable, and, most importantly, cheap.

"That's the plan," Spike replied. "Can't risk the bugger following us, now can we?"

"I suppose not. I just feel kinda really bad for him."

"You feel bad for everyone, lamb," he said, pulling the top of one bag than another shut. "But he fucks with us again and he's going to be the kind of unconscious you don't wake up from. I'll see to that." He looked up to see her frown. "Oh, don't look at me like that. That blighter is a threat to you, and we've got enough to worry about without Doctor bloody Death showing up on our doorstep."

"But murder. Really?"

"Trust me, pet, if he shows up again, the fucker will probably want us to kill him, miserable bastard. Can't believe that stupid sod would do that to his wife."

Rae arched an eyebrow. "Can't you?"

"That was different."

"I just think that you're maybe just trying to overcompensate for feeling a little identify-y."

"What I did to my mum… it was completely different."

"Right, because you didn't love her and you weren't trying to save her, and so you didn't do something that ultimately harmed her because you weren't thinking about all the possible consequences of your actions."

"Sure. I mean when you put it that way, it sounds, you know, a bit similar. But it was different. I was evil."

"You weren't acting from evil, Spike. Just like he wasn't. You acted out of love, you know that. So, yeah, it makes sense that you would do something stupid. I mean when has anyone ever done something smart when love was involved." Her smile seemed a little too forced, a little too sad. "I'm sorry." She continued nervously. "I don't want to overstep my bounds… I mean, it's really not my place anymore, to, you know…"

"Point out the painfully obvious." He ran his hand over his hair. "Suppose I am being a bit of a tosser."

Her smile still seemed forced. "Something like that. I think. My British slang's a bit rusty."

"You okay?" He scrutinized her, attempting to assess the damage that he couldn't see, but knew was there.

"Not really. But that's nothing new. It would just be kinda cool not to keep finding out all of these creepy things about myself. I'm trying really hard not to freak, and then when I'm good with the not freaking, a new thing comes along to freak me out. I mean can't all this supernaturalness cut me a little fucking break."

"Fraid, that's not how it works."

"Spike," she said, her tone suddenly somber. "I need to ask you something. When we were together did you ever… were you ever…" Her words trailed off.

"No," he quickly answered her unspoken question. "Never, lamb. That I promise you. I was… it was… I never. Might have been a bit of bastard to you in the end, but not that. Wouldn't do that to you."

She nodded slowly, seemingly satisfied.

"Buffy's off the phone."

Rae raised an eyebrow. "Vampire hearing?"

"Has its perks. I think I need to have a word with her before we're off."

"That's probably not a bad idea. Buffy's been… she's really really great. She… both of you have already saved my life way too many times…"

Spike grinned. "And we're just getting started, pet. Be just a few minutes." He opened the bedroom door closing it behind him. He smiled to himself as through the closed door, he heard Rae turn on the TV, turning up the volume. Her attempt to give them what little privacy a tiny New York City apartment could.

"So, love, what tidings from the motherland? Watcher boy suss it all out?" he asked, leaning back against the closed door.

"Giles is going into full research mode. He says he has no idea what she could be, but I'm sure he has a whole bunch of books piled up and he is already torturing people who aren't me by making them read through them. God, I'm so glad I'm not in London." She paused. "I'm sure he'll come up with something in a day or two. He always does. And now he has even more books and even more people to look through them. It'll be like a sweatshop over there. Except with books. And breaks. And non-hazardous working conditions. And sugary goodness. So, really, bad analogy."

He moved toward her, wrapped his arms around her, brushing his lips against her forehead. "And how are you holding up?"

She looked up into his eyes. "Peachy fuzzy keen."

"Okay. That's just swell then, isn't it?" he drawled. "How about really now?"

"Really," she let out a long, heavy sigh. "I don't want to have to go through this again. The whole apocalypse thing is getting a little passé. Been there, saved the world that."

"And?" he said, arching an eyebrow. "I know you Buffy, and I know when you're holding something back. You get this tightness around your lips." He leaned down kissing the corners of her mouth. "And your eye does this twitching thing." He murmurred, his lips still pressed against her cheek.

"I don't twitch," she said, annoyed and backing away from him. But his arms would not let her go, and truth be told, she wasn't trying too hard to get away. "And even if I did, at least I don't turn in to a chimney whenever I'm freaked."

"And now you're avoiding."

"I am so not avoidy."

"Right Slayer."

"Fine." She sighed again. Giving in, resting her head against his chest, taking comfort in her defeat. "And, I'm really hating this whole thing. I hate the fact that we have to go to her house. And I hate the fact that she is so pretty and really nice and kinda cool. Although she is a little whiny. Did you notice that? I mean tears. Lots of tears. A little too much of the Dawnness here."

Spike smiled, resting his chin on her head. "I think you're being a bit hard on the Bit. She didn't snivel quite so much."

"You missed a lot of the dramatics. Day light and everything. There was quite a bit of snivelage."

"She got better with it, didn't she? And Rae, you know, you said so yourself, she's going through a lot just at the moment, Buffy. Not exactly all sunshine and roses, is it?"

"That doesn't mean I can't hate this whole thing. Including the drama and the angst and the oh-god-I'm-not-normal-I-think-I-sob- incessantly -ness," she paused, realizing that she was being harsh, but only because she was being honest. If Spike wanted to be all Mr. Sympathy guy that was his deal. She had been through too much to have much of a tolerance for all tears and the mollycoddling. The girl had been through a lot, true, but the waterworks weren't doing anything to help her. Maybe, Buffy thought, she had just grown callous to the supernatural. Callous in general.

Then she remembered what Giles had said. About love. About vulnerability. She took a deep breath, her features softening. She could pretend that she was annoyed at Rae's reaction to their supernatural shit show, but what she was really annoyed at was her own jealousy. Honesty, huh. "Actually, you know what, I really hate? I really hate the little looks between the two of you that I don't understand."

"What looks? When have there been looks?" He pulled away from her, his hands still resting on her arms, but the hold of his embrace loosened.

"Listen, I may not have been around as long as you, but I know looks when I see them and there was definite lookage." She said, succeeding in pulling away from him, angry, because in this moment she wanted his hold to be fast he had let her slip away.

"Like when?"

"Like when before with the doctor, she said you name and you shook your head and there was a definite look."

"Oh, that…" he said, running his hands over his hair.

"Yeah that. What was that even about, Spike?"

"That… that was nothing."

"That was definitively not nothing. It was... something. There was definite palpable thingness. So just tell me."

"You bloody don't want to know, Buffy."

"Yes I bloody do. God, you are so infuriating. You make me so happy and then comes all the secrets and the angry. Shit, Spike, you're supposed to love me and trust me remember."

"I do trust you. I'm just asking you now to trust me that this is not sodden something your little Slayer ears need to hear, alright."

"But it was okay to tell her?"

"It was different with her, Buffy." He said softly, knowing before he spoke them the pain those words would cause. Not just the present pain which would smart like a slap across the face, but the history of pain behind those words. The pain that tore at there guts and pierced their hearts ever time they lifted the current of the past.

"Different how?" Buffy said, her arms crossed over her chest, her eyes gleaming.

Spike took an unnecessary breath. "She… she never treated me like a monster," he said slowly. "You had reason to. Did try to kill you more than once," he added quickly. "I just don't fancy giving you any more reason to, I reckon."

She took a step toward him. "You stupid stupid stupid stupid vampire," she said, reaching up to take his face in her hands, which were less than gentle. "Stupid," she continued. "Spike all the dumb stupid things you've done. All the times you've tried to kill me and have really hurt me… and I still love you, stupid. So, you really think one little thing from her past is going to change that," her look and touch softened. "You really can be such a dummy," she said smiling slightly and shaking her head.

"I turned my mum into a vamp," he said quietly looking into her eyes.

She recoiled from him instinctually. "You whatted your who into a huh?" she gasped, pained by the hurt that flickered through his eyes, but unable to fight her instincts.

"I sired her. Turned her into a creature of the night, like me. You know how vamps tend to slaughter their families. I tried to save mine. She was dying, Buffy," an explanation, an appeal. "She had TB. Doctor's hadn't a clue how to cure it. They couldn't help her. I thought I could."

"So, you undead mommy is out there wandering around?"

He shook his head slowly. "You don't have to worry about a monster-in-law, love. I… I stake her. It wasn't my mum any more. It was… it was a demon. She, uh, she came on to me. Said some nasty terrible things. And I realized that my mom was dead and that I had killed her. So I staked her to kill the bloody bastard inside her skin."

Buffy looked down at the floor, then back to him. "The trigger…"

"Yeah, the trigger. Needed to figure out that… that my mum had really loved me. That all the things the demon said had been just that… the demon talking not my mum. Little chat I had with the principal, you know, the one where he tried to kill me, helped me to figure it out."

"Why didn't you tell me, I could have, like, helped or at least done something."

He shook his head again. "You had enough to worry about, with the war between good and evil and everything. Didn't need to be worried with my mommy issues. Had Robin to Freud me."

"But…"

"Besides, Buffy, I couldn't tell you that then. You had just started to see me as a man, a real boy and all that. Didn't want you to know what the monster was capable of."

"I'm sorry, Spike."

He cocked his head to the side, "For what, pet?"

"I don't know. For not letting you tell me that stuff then and for making you tell it to me now."

He shrugged. "Knew as soon as you got the idea in that mule head of yours you were going to get all the details of the whole lurid affair out of me somehow. It was only a matter of time."

"So, you're not made at me," she said meekly.

"Not one for grudges or dramatics love. I'll leave the brooding to your former."

"And I'll try to leave the crazy to yours," she looked around the room. "You know, it's a shitty apartment. But I'm actually kinda sad to leave it." It hadn't been much, but at least it had been theirs. And now she was going a place that he had called home without her.

"It will be okay love," he replied, pulling her again into his embrace.

"That's what everyone keeps telling me. But I can't help but feel it's a little to placate-y," she said, smiling weakly and resting her cheek against the soft cotton on the shirt.

They stood like that for a moment, knowing that they needed to be on their way, unwilling to let each other go.

After a minute he spoke. "About time to make our exit, love."

"Don't wanna," she protested. Then she sighed and disentangled herself from his embrace. She gestured to the duffle bag she had crammed full of clothes. "I packed some of your things in there. I can pick up some more of our stuff when I go to class tomorrow. And I had better tell the super about the major window breakage. Something tells me Giles is not getting his cleaning deposit back on this place." She reached up and kissed him. "Alright," she said as she swung the duffle bag over her shoulder and walked out of their room, "I guess its time to go all No Sleep Till Brooklyn."

Buffy had quickly packed up a couple more things, her laptop, books for class, shampoo and make-up. When she was done she looked at the five very full duffle bags.

"You sure we're going to need all of this, love? Seems a bit excessive, yeah?" Spike asked, eyeing them.

"You know me, all boy scouty and with the preparedness. Never know what outfit you're gonna need. Besides, while I may have some baggage issues, it's all packed up now and we really don't have the time to go through the whole unpack, repack thing."

"Okay, then," Rae said glancing around. "I'm going to let those of us here with super strength do the majority of the luggage luggage. I'll just take one bag." She grabbed the handle of the bag closest to her, pulled it up about ten inches off of the floor before letting it go with a thud. "But not that one." She said sheepishly.

They had left the door unlocked. Buffy had assured them that there wasn't anything of value left in the apartment, that she had packed anything that she wouldn't want to lose, and that most of the stuff in there, with maybe the exception of the TV, was nothing that anyone would want to take. Besides, the doctor would, hopefully, leave when he came to, so locking the door with him inside would have been pointless.

They made their way to the subway station. Rae struggled to carry her and Buffy's backpacks and the lightest of the duffle bags, refusing to ask for help. Spike and Buffy carried two bags each.

The subway was crowded. The rush hour commuters disapprovingly eyed their bags as they packed into the train, clearly not pleased with the three of them. However, they didn't disapprove for too long. Any eyes that lingered on them were met with a growler from Spike that caused most business men and women to look quickly away. "Stupid sods," he growled to himself. "Next time I'll just let dragon snack on their subway. Lot of ungrateful gits."

The walk from the subway station to Rae's place wasn't too long. As the approached Rae's brownstone, Buffy looked around. Compared to where she had been living, the neighborhood was so, well, nice. Although compared to where she had been living, almost anywhere else was nice.

She had been so busy looking around that she hadn't noticed that Rae and Spike had stop.

Rae gestured to one of the brownstones. "Well, here it is. Home sweet home. Feel like I could click my heels together and wake up from all of this. Although the whole it-was-only-a-dream-thing keeps on seeming like a more and more unlikely resolution. "

"Which floor are you?" Buffy asked.

"Oh. No. I'm…uh… the whole thing. The brownstone is just one unit."

"Oh." Buffy said. She suddenly felt very ashamed of her crappy one bedroom. Apartment envy, she guessed. Well, at least they would have more space here. Lots more space. Which could definitely be a good thing. Because she needed some time alone with Spike. With everything that had happened the past day, she needed time with him. A few more minutes of peace where she could forget about the girl and the end of the world. A few minutes to push all of the craziness into the background, to shift the focus back to them. A few minutes free from the responsibility that kept being piled on her shoulders. A few minutes of closeness. A few minutes of just him and her. A few minutes to breath. Maybe coming here wouldn't be such a bad thing after all. She put on her resolve face and followed Rae and Spike to the door. Giles was right. She could do this. She had been to heaven and hell. She could handle Brooklyn.


	48. The Other Woman

**New York 2009**

Rae's scent was overwhelming. Spike had forgotten the way in which her smell premeditated everything. He had forgotten her heavy sweetness, the way in which it perfumed the entire apartment, the way in which each breath filled him, intoxicated him. He had forgotten how he used to get drunk on her smell, reeling from its cloying heaviness. It was like standing too long beside a gardenia or a cereus, the way that their sweetness surrounded you, subdued you, seduced you, made you light headed, and filled you with its scent.

It had been fine when they had been together. Then he could satiate the hunger that her scent aroused in him. He could wrap himself in her smell and burry himself in her body, the whole thing hazy and heavy like a dream.

And then he must have gotten used to it, learned how to function even with that cloying smell hanging in the air.

But as he walked into her apartment again, her smell assaulted him, threatening to overwhelm him. It was so concentrated. Everything, everywhere, smelled of her.

There were other smells, too, of course, and he tried to focus on them. The faint residual smell of his tobacco, which had clung to the apartment despite his absence. The sweet herbal musk of marijuana. The acrid ammonia of a litter box that needed to be cleaned. And, of course, Buffy, who had walked in right behind him. The spicy, citrus of her smell cutting the overpowering sweetness of Rae, like a sudden, refreshing breeze wafting through stuffy, stifling room.

Rae stopped at the landing of the steps leading up to the second floor. "So, this is it," she said awkwardly. "Spike, you know where the guest bedrooms are. The beds are all made-up, so, yeah. Um, I guess, just, uh, pick out which ever room you want. You can put all of your stuff anywhere. It probably won't all fit in one room." Then they heard sharp meow coming from the top of the stairs, where a little white kitty was standing with a very pissed off expression. "Austen," she said, and the cat yowled again. "I know, kitty, I'm coming." She smiled apologetically at Spike and Buffy. "I need to take care of them. You'd think they were actually starving to death."

She walked up the stair cooing at the cat, which ran away as soon as she approached, so that she could stand over her food dish and glare at Rae. "I missed you too, Austen, you pampered little brat cat." She said as scooped some kibble into the cat's bowl.

Buffy so could not handle Brooklyn, she decided. After Rae ran upstairs to take care of her cats, she had followed Spike to a bedroom.

"This one okay?" Spike asked, gesturing through a doorway into a room.

Buffy shrugged. "It's fine." The room was actually really nice. It wasn't huge, but it wasn't tiny either. Bigger than their bedroom back home in the Bronx. There was a small closet and a small dresser. A few abstract painting hung on the wall, the kind that Buffy didn't really get, but the expensive smudges of bold colors appealed to her for some reason. "I don't know where we're going to put all my clothes," she said tiredly. Then she noticed the draws built into the bed platform. "Oh," she said, "isn't that storage-y. Clever."

"Should we unpack, then?" Spike said, more than a little hesitant, knowing the most of the clothes were not his.

She sighed. "See, the thing is that if we unpack that means that we are going to be staying here for a while. If we don't, then, hey, we could be going to be coming home tomorrow. Who knows? No one, that's who."

"You do realize it took you less than an hour to pack all this up the first time, love? It's not exactly like we're traveling heavy here."

"Fine, Captain Logic guy, I guess we'll unpack," she pouted.

"Now that's not fighting fair, Slayer. Pouty," he murmured catching her lips with his, his blunt teeth nipping at her pout, then his tongue running along it until she, breathless, parted her lips and let him in.

When they separated, he grinned. "God, I love you, Buffy."

She smiled in return. "I love you, too."

They began unpacking. "Good lord, Slayer," Spike said, holding a purple top up in front of him and eyeing skeptically. "How many shirts can you possible have need for? You've got all of bloody Bloomingdales packed away here."

"Okay, Spike, I know that you are like so fashion tragic, so let's review a few things. A. There is no way that I could afford anything Bloomingdales-y. The slayer salary is pretty low, as you might remember from the cow hat I was forced to wear, speaking of the fashion tragic, because no one actually pays us for saving them, which is totally unfair, and really cuts down on shopping excursions. B. This is a perfectly normal amount of clothing to own. Which leads us to C. Most people like to have more than one outfit choice. 'Oi,'" she said, badly imitating his accent, "'Don't know gov, should I ware the black shirt with black jeans or the black jeans with black shirt. Bugger. Bloody' and stuff," she concluded in her normal voice.

He laughed. "Okay, Buffy. A. I do not sound like that. In fact," he said tilting his head, "I don't think anyone actually sounds like that. B. I have some, you know, other shirts, that are colorful. Purple and red mostly, but still, color if that's what you're after. Which leads that to C. I like to keep things simple. Not much one for frilly bells and whistles."

"Can you please get a shirt with frilly bells and whistles," she said, refolding a pair of jeans, "because I would so totally love to see that. You could be a real trend-setter-y with that one."

"I think, I'll stick with simply black, pet. It's classic. Sorry, I'm not exactly Jackie-O," he paused. "Or whoever he much more manly counterpart would be."

"As a rule, you know, vamps tend to be seriously fashion challenged. For some reason, you all think that fashion died the day you did. I have killed some really hideous outfit," she paused. "Although, I would love to have seen you dress up, all dashing Mr. Darcy."

"Never gonna happen," he glared at her . "Beside the fact that Jane Austen was over half a century before my time, never did care waistcoats and top hats. Too fussy, and not nearly as slimming," he said sarcastically, running his handing over his muscular abdomen.

"Oh, so the whole black motif isn't just some morbid-badass-creature-of-the-night thing, it's an afraid-of-getting-pudgy-around-the-midsection thing. And here I thought it was to be all tough and dark and mysterious. You vampires are so vain."

"I'll show you vain," he said, lunging and her, catching her, pinning her arms behind her back, and nipping at her neck.

"Actually, I'm pretty sure that's an artery. And a really bad pun," she laughed.

God, Buffy had thought. Why couldn't everything be this easy? Because when it was just the two of them, like this, things were so simple and easy and clear. And she didn't get all muddled and jealous and doubty and confused. It didn't even really mattered, she had thought, that they were in Rae's house. As soon as it was just the two of them the other woman faded away, and there was only them.

Then she had left him to go to the bathroom. It was only right down the hall, but it was far enough to separate them again. It didn't help that Buffy had decided to start snooping. It was, after all, just a look around. She was curious to see how Rae lived.

The first room she had peeked it had been boring. Just another guest bedroom. Not quite as big as the one she and Spike had claimed, but still, it was nice.

The next room was some sort of library or office. There was one desk with an older looking desktop and a laptop. Other than that, there were books everywhere. Bookcases were pushed against every inch of wall, making the room seem smaller than it was. Books, overflowing from the shelves, were stacked on the floor, some piles so high they looked like they might topple over. This is like Giles heaven, Buffy thought as she looked around.

She was just about to leave when she noticed something on the desk, a picture frame which had been turned over. She picked it up to look at it, and in a moment, she wished that she hadn't.

She couldn't tell where the picture had been taken. But, it was a picture of the two of them. Of Spike and Rae. His arm causally around her waist. She was leaning up against him, his arms around her, and she was looking almost directly into the camera, her face angled only slightly toward him, and Spike was in profile, his nose against her cheek. They were laughing, Buffy was pretty sure. Rae was smiling widely, her white teeth set off by the tanned olive of her skin, and Spike was smirking, probably the one who had said whatever was so funny.

Buffy wanted to throw the picture across the room. She wanted to destroy the image and for a second she wondered why Rae hadn't. She clearly hadn't wanted it staring at her, which is why it turned it over, but why not get rid of the thing? Why leave it there for Buffy to find?

True, she probably hadn't anticipated ever having Buffy stay as a house guest, but still.

They just looked so happy, so normal together. Which of course they weren't, because hello, he was still a vampire. But no one had ever taken a picture with her and Spike together like that. She didn't have any pictures of them. They never went to parties together or anything. It seemed like they were always fighting the forces of darkness or fucking. Not that they never did anything couply. They watched TV movies together. Some nights they went to the dive bar around the corner from her apartment. Once or twice they had gone out to dinner, but that was always awkward because even though he liked to eat normal food every once in a while he never needed to.

It was not that they never laughed together. It was just that no one had been there to document it. Since she had come to the Bronx there had been only him. Which was great, because she loved him. But they had been alone. Alone together, true, but still alone. Isolated. And that, well, it wasn't normal. Not for anyone. Not even for her.

Not like it was here. He had been happy with her. They had gone out together. He had loved her. That was painfully painfully obvious from the way he was looking at her. And then Buffy had showed up and ruined that for him. Maybe it would have been better she hadn't barged back into his life. If she had stayed out of New York and he had stayed with Rae and had lived the life that this picture seemed to promise. She had taken that away from him.

She put the picture down where she had found it, wishing that she hadn't gone in that room. All of the ease she had been feeling before had vanished, and she felt the weight of their situation crushing her again.

She walked back into the guest group and slumped against the bed, where Spike had decided to sprawl out, one hand beneath his head, the other holding a lit cigarette, dangling over the ashtray he had found in the nightstand draw. With Buffy out of the room, the smoke distracted him from Rae's scent. "You okay, love?" Spike asked gently.

"Just tired," she said, too scared and selfish to express her fears. Afraid that he might agree and she would lose him again.

He sat up behind her, placed the burning cigarette in ashtray, and began rubbing her shoulders. "It has been one bloody hell of a day. Even for a Slayer."

"Which is saying something. Because I'm little-miss-battles-demons over here. Tough days and nights are really my thing. And… oooh… right there… yeah…" she said, wilting under Spike's touch. "I like it when you decide to be all cute and boyfriendy."

"Balls, you're tense, Slayer," he said, kneading her back. "Seems like you need me to be 'all cute and boyfriendy,'" he air quoted, doing his own bad immatation of her in a grating falsetto, "more often, yeah?"

"I wouldn't object. You can never have too much cute boyfriendiness. That's a universally accepted fact. So, less air quoting and John Cleesing me, and more massageness, please." She moaned lightly. "I can't believe I missed out on this for all those years," she said, instantly regretting it. Because all those years she had missed out on it, he had spent half of them here. Happy. "I mean," she fumbled, "I wish that things had been different between us. Since the beginning."

"I know what you mean, love. But no use moaning over the past. Not gonna change a bloody thing. Rather to give you reason to moan here in the present," he said, his thumb and fingers working deep circles into a particularly tense muscle, and she did let out a moan.

"How did you learn how to do this?" She asked. "And how come I didn't know about it until know? Explainy."

He grinned. "One of those things you pick up on, I reckon. As to you not knowing, a bloke's gotta keep some air of mystery around him. Keep you guessing. Make sure you don't get bored."

"Don't think you could ever get boring," she smiled. "You're just too weird."

He was rubbing between her shoulders, her head bent down, eyes closed, when he paused.

"No stopping," she whined.

"Rae's coming down. Not being overly quiet about it either," he said, tilting his head to the side. "Rae?" he called, loud enough for her to hear.

"Yeah?" she called back, increasing her pace. "Hey," she said awkwardly when she came to the doorway, not crossing the threshold. "Hope I'm not interrupting, uh, anything. I, um, just wanted to see if you needed, uh, anything. And to give these to you." She held out the two bath towels she had been holding.

"Everything's great. Thanks." Buffy replied, with some forced cheer. "You really have great place. You lucked out."

"I wasn't that lucky. I mean, it was father's evil money that paid for all this," she said, gesturing vaguely.

"But with digs like this you're not exactly unlucky either," Spike added. "Most folks would sell their soul to fall into real estate like this. Half the souls in hell are the result Manhattan apartment deals."

"I suppose not. Guess there I always a price, isn't there?"

"More than you know," Buffy said softly.

"Well, we are all unpacked, everything all tucked away," Spike said, quickly changing the subject. "Buffy's a bloody drill sergeant when it comes to her clothes," he exchanged a small smile with Buffy. "What have you been up to, duck?"

Rae leaned against the door frame. "Not too much. Took care of the cats. They kinda demanded that they were my priority, but I think they are considering forgiving me, so that's good. Then Chris called, so I was on the phone with him for a while."

"Who's Chris?" Buffy asked, perhaps bit too eagerly.

"A guy I'm seeing," Rae responded at the same time that Spike said, "Her dissertation director."

Rae gave Spike a disapproving look, before she continued. "He wanted to come over and chicken soup me and take care of me and be all sympathetic and attentive. But with all of the weirdness I don't really want to see him. And you're here. And beside, the fact that my leg is not, you know, gouged is, well, problematic. I'm going have to fake the injury until the end of the semester. Other wise he is going to think that I'm like having an affair or something."

"Why would he think that?" Buffy asked, trying to keep the jealousy out of her voice. Because even though Rae hadn't been that specific, the implications were clear. An affair with Spike. Spike having an affair with her. Mental pictures that Buffy would so much rather avoid.

"Well, I did call him from Spike's phone. And I mean, he's doing it. So, you know what they say about men who cheat." She shrugged.

Buffy looked to Spike, but spoke to Rae. "You mean you know he is having an affair? And you're okay with that?" She couldn't help but sound appalled. She would never never let a man do that to her. That was what had ended things with Riley, after all. He had cheated. So, maybe things had been over anyway. And she had gone after him, but not because she though that she would let him stay. She had gone because she wasn't ready yet to see him go. She was too proud to let a man do that to her and too afraid that he would.

Rae smiled sadly. "It is his wife. He is kinda Don Drapering it. Wife and kids in the suburbs, tawdry affairs in the city. That sort of thing." Rae was still taking. But Buffy was not listening. There was something about the casualness about which this woman talked about infidelity that unnerved her. Because if it didn't bother her that this Chris guy was married, then she didn't care that Spike was with her now. If Rae wanted him, Buffy decided, she would take him. No moral qualms about it. "He keeps saying he's in love with me, but of course he isn't. He's just bored with his life and I'm something new and exciting, that is, until I become boring too."

"So you're the other woman?" Buffy said slowly, a note of accusation in her voice.

Rae shrugged, either not noticing or pretending not to notice Buffy's disapproving and accusatory tone. "I prefer mistress, it sounds more expensive, but yeah. Anyway, that is way more than enough about him. I came down to see if you guys want some dinner. I'm starving. Spike, I don't have any blood, but there is human food if you want it."

"No thanks, lamb. Not that hungry."

"I'm really sorry. We'll get you some blood in the morning," she reassured him. "Buffy, I have some quinoa salad and tofu if you're hungry."

"Keen-wha?" Buffy asked.

Spike grinned. "It's a grain. Healthy and such. Kind of bollocks vegetarians get all hot and bothered about." Buffy did not like Spike being all knowledgeable about what got Rae hot and bothered, even if that was health food.

"A super grain," Rae added. "It's packed with fiber and protein. Really good for you. And super yummy."

"Uh-huh," Buffy said. "So, you're a vegetarian?"

"Um, yeah. Grew up that way. I've, like, never eaten meat. It's, I don't know, icky."

Buffy couldn't help but burst out in a laugh. She was completely hysterical, and, so knew it, but she couldn't stop. Maybe it was the stress, she thought gasping, before falling into another round of giggles. Maybe it was just a relief to find one reason, albeit a small one, but still a reason why Rae was Spike's Miss. Right and pretty and perfect. Maybe that made her feel better. She didn't trust the other woman (she felt herself shiver at the title, despite her laugher, just another reminder that Rae could not be trusted), but this was too funny. "_Odd Couple_ much?" she managed to shriek before snorting with laughter again. Then her face fell. While she found the prospect of a vegetarian not only living with but sleeping with someone who was such a literal carnivore that he actually drank blood really really really fucking funny, she did wish that they had picked up some take-out, because tofu and quinoa were so not going to cut it.


	49. Quiet and Questions

**New York 2009**

The quinoa was not as bad as Buffy had expected; Rae had mixed it with sundried tomatoes, kalamata olives, lemon zest, and feta cheese. But the tofu was way bland, the texture unappealing. She did not understand how someone could live on that stuff. Which was saying something. Because she had lived off of English food for the past six years and had done a stint at Doublemeat Palace. So she knew bad food.

Things after dinner were awkward. No one really seemed sure about what they were supposed to do. Hanging out, the three of them, would be way uncomfortable. Buffy was unthrilled to be spending more time with Rae. She was okay as far as Spike's ex-girlfriends went, which was, after all, not that much of compliment. The whole thinnest kid at fat camp thing. But, while she would rather spend time with her than Drusilla or, god help her, Harmony, she didn't want to. Mostly because she didn't trust her. And she didn't want any more ideas about what Spike had seen in her, and she definitely did not want Spike remember them. Besides, Spike acted so weird around her sometimes. He didn't breath. Buffy often forgot that he didn't need to, with the deadness and everything, but when he didn't breath she found it unnerving, unnatural. It was weird and she didn't like it.

But, after dinner Rae said she was tired. Needed to recoup for the craziness of the day before. "Don't worry," she had said with a small smile, "I'll scream is anything attacks me."

She felt awkward, uncomfortable, around Buffy, around Spike. Things were fine when they were actively saving her life, but it hurt to see Buffy and Spike together. Every touch between was a reminder that he had left Rae for this, this love, that, despite everything she had given him, freely and without question, she had not been able to evoke in him. He had needed more than her and he had found that in Buffy and it stung.

She was used to men leaving. Actually, she had counted on it. After Dem and Theo, she hadn't let herself get attached again. Until Spike. Because, with him, things had started to feel permanent. And then they weren't. And they probably wouldn't ever have been, but they would have lasted a little bit longer if Buffy hadn't showed up.

There was nothing that she could do about that now. But she didn't need to be reminded of how easily she was cast aside.

And, she was afraid of overstepping some invisible line in the sand. No matter how much she might want to. To adopt a familiarity that was no longer acceptable. But she wasn't sure where that line was, she couldn't see it exactly, and so she hung back as much as she could, each blunder forward followed by an apology, afraid that she would somehow stumble across the unseen boundary. It was better, she felt, to stay too far away than to wind up to close. That would be ungood for all of them. Buffy could be really really scary, and she so did not need to give her any reason to feel threatened, any need to lash out. Not to mention that she was a little afraid of herself, of what she would do if given the opportunity. She knew that restraint was not exactly one of her virtues. She usually went for what she wanted, consequences be damned. Which is probably how she had ended up in bed with a vampire in the first place. And now she knew that wanted, needed, him again, but the consequences might be too much this time. She had to play it safe, hide away her feelings for him, and hope that they would not betray her. If she crossed that line, there was no going back, and, right now, she needed to be focused on survival, not the urge between her legs.

"Is it alright if we snag a flick, pet?" Spike had asked.

"Help yourself." Rae had shrugged. "You know where they are."

He had asked Buffy what she was in the mood for. "Something mindless. You know, light," was all that she responded. Unfortunately, Rae's movie collection tended to be pretty esoteric. She like those abstract artsy films that critics love and almost nobody else can stand to sit through. He had bloody suffered through enough of them. And she had a lot of sci-fi flims. Rae was writing her dissertation on the postcolonial subjectivity in postmodern science fiction. Or some bollocks like that. Every time she had said it, the title had gotten longer. But he knew that sci-fi never really been Buffy's thing. And he seriously doubted Kubric was Buffy had meant by mindless.

He decided on _Alien_, not exactly light, but he figured Buffy would dig Ripley, with whole woman warrior, girl power thing she had going, and saying good night to Rae, he and Buffy went back downstairs to the guest room. They watched the DVD on Buffy's laptop, Spike arm around Buffy, she curled into him, the computer balanced on their legs.

But he was only half paying attention to the film.

Rae had not actually gone to bed. He could hear her quietly strumming her guitar, the smell of weed wafting down stairs. If Buffy heard or smelled anything, she didn't let on. But, Spike was alert, almost too aware of her actions.

He was torn. He couldn't help it. He loved Buffy, had fought for and given up everything for her. There was no question about that. It would always be Buffy for him, and he was fooling himself to think otherwise. But he still felt some loyalty to Rae. At least the need to protect her. And that meant from the beasties who were after her and from himself. He had done enough damage to the poor lamb, didn't need to inflict any more. Which meant hurting Buffy. Because how could Buffy not be hurt, how could she not notice that he was acting oddly around Rae? How could she not notice that he was stiffer, not at easy, had exchanged his usually devil-may-care swagger for a tip toe across eggshells. And he hated bloody eggshells—the slightest crack could send the whole tumbling down and right now he didn't want anything falling apart.

Besides, timid was not exactly his style. But it was the card he had drawn, and if he didn't want the whole fucking house of them crashing down on his head, then he better play what he had been dealt.

When the movie was over, Spike untangled himself from Buffy. Rae had been quiet for a half and hour now, and he reckoned it probably wasn't a bad idea to check on her. She had been attacked twice in as many days. Not a promising stat.

"Figure I'll look in on the bird," he said. "Make sure no other beasties have taken a bite out of her."

"Do you want me to come with?" Buffy asked, going for nonchalance, but desperately hoping that he would say yes. She didn't love the idea of him going into her bedroom alone. She didn't want any memories rising to the surface. Actually, under these circumstances any rising at all would be decidedly bad.

He shrugged. "If you fancy coming along, love. Only going up stairs though."

She sighed. "Fine. I guess I'll go out for a quick patrol. Make sure there aren't any nasties in the neighborhood."

"You sure you want to do that alone?" They had gotten into the habit of patrolling together. It was nice. They had each other's backs. Kept each other company.

"I think it's a good idea for one of us to stay here. You know… incase there is another attack or something. Rae doesn't exactly strike me as action girl."

Spike smiled. "She's not. Although she does know to use of pointy end."

"I'll be back in a few, then," Buffy said, ignoring the double entendre, hopping off the bed and slipping on her sneakers. She reached up and kissed him. She didn't want to know what Rae did the pointy end of anything. And she didn't want Spike thinking about it either. "I'll make this one short, just a loop around the block."

She did hope that there was something to kill, though. She had a very strong urge for some violence. After everything that had happened the past two days she needed some serious stress relief. She hated feeling like this. She was exhausted, but completely wired. Killing evil things would help.

So, she pulled on her winter coat and stepped out into the street. She double checked the house number, hoping she wouldn't get lost. She had her cell phone. It was next to the stake in her pocket, but she so did not want to have to call Spike and tell him that she couldn't find her way home.

After Buffy had left, Spike went upstairs. The door to Rae's room was slightly ajar, and he pushed it gently, not breathing. The smell her would be its most concentrated. Its most intense.

The light was still on, and she was sprawled out on top of the bed. She was still fully dressed, which he knew was not how she liked to sleep. But he didn't want to get his hands cut off again, which is what Buffy would likely if she found out he had undressed the other woman. He would wager a whole litter of kittens on that one. With that thought, Austen looked sleepily at him from where she was curled up next to Rae's stomach. She hissed quietly and then went back to sleep.

There was a roach in the ash tray next to Rae's bed, and an empty bottle of wine with one glass. There were also some white pills in a ziplock bag. He couldn't identify them.

So, she had passed out. Spike wondered how much of this shit she had swallowed. Worried for a second about an overdose. Fat lot of good his and Buffy's protecting presence in the house would be if she ODed on god knows what. Just brilliant, he thought. Shouldn't have left her alone like that. It had been selfish of them. He and Buffy had been so greedy for some time together that they hadn't considered the possible consequences. Shouldn't they, or at least he, have known that this would be how she dealed with shit. She was all about the self-medicating.

He stood silently for a few minutes. There were three distinct heartbeats. The rapid beat of the cats, Bronte must be in here too, that meant, and the slower, but steady pulse of a human. Her breath too was the even, rhythmic inhale and exhale of the sleeper. He reached down and touched her cheek, smoothing a tangle of hair from her face. Her skin was warm, but not feverish. His fingers lingered on her cheek for a second before he jerked them away. Good. Her vitals, at least the one's he could check, seemed fine. No need for the emergency stomach pump. Besides, he figured, from what he had seen the night before, it was going to take a lot more than popping a couple of pills for her to be pushing up the daisies.

He turned off the lamp next to the bed and grabbed the wine bottle and glass, bringing them into the kitchen. He would have a little chat with her about this in the morning. Explain to her that offing herself was not part of the plan. See if that had actually been her plan to begin with. Could be that she just didn't know any other way to deal with the pain. Had been on his fair share of benders for the same reason. Because if you imbibed enough, you could numb yourself. If you imbibed a little bit more than that you could pass out and not have to feel a thing.

He left the door slightly ajar, the way he had found it and went back downstairs.

Buffy came in about a half an hour later. She had found something to kill, Spike could tell from the glint in her eye, the flush in her cheek, her nose pink from the cold. She looked so bloody beautiful.

"Happy hunting, then?" he drawled.

"Only a couple of vamps," she said, twirling her stake and then putting it on the dresser. "How's Rae?"

"Passed out. Loaded on wine and pot and pills and god knows what else."

"Do you think its going to be a problem? We don't need her going all _Reefer Madness._"

Spike shrugged, running his hand through hair, disheveling his curls. "Right now I reckon she's just trying to find a bit of peace, yeah? Self-medicating and all that."

"I so don't need to deal with apocalyptic addict girl. Willow was enough of that to last me a lifetime."

"On the bright side, doubt Rae's going to flay anyone alive anytime soon."

Buffy looked at him grimly. "You know the whole we-still-don't-really-know-what-she-is-capable-of thing?" He nodded. "Yeah, let's not actively try to jinx it."

"Point taken."

She sat down next to Spike on the bed, pulling her hair out from its pony tale holder, shaking it out. "What are we doing here, Spike?" she said tiredly.

"Trying to save the world… again," he added.

"Why does it always have to be us?"

"Because we're superpowered and stubborn and remarkably good-looking, I guess," he smirked.

"No. I'm serious. Like, don't we get a break? I mean, in the stories the heroes save the day and then they get some sort of reward, like knighted or they get to king or find their true love. With us its just all be-kind-rewind."

Spike raised an eyebrow. "You want to be king of the world?" he asked skeptically, "a little Leo, isn't it?"

"I just want my happily ever after. I want to be done with all of this."

"Fraid that's not in your cards, love. You won't be done until your dead or the world is. And if it's you, someone'll just bring you back. We've both been there."

"So, then what do we do."

"Keep fighting, I reckon. Hope that the happily ever coming during and not after."

He kissed her. The tip of her nose against his cheek was still slightly chilled from her patrol, but her lips, her tongue were warm as they welcomed him. He caught his hands in her hair, which he had spent so many years loving so many years yearning for, and her own fingers ran through his curls. She moaned against him and he could smell her arousal as her hands moved from his hair to undo his belt buckle.

"Buffy," he said softly, drawing away from her slowly.

She looked up at him, confused then ashamed. "Oh," she said, sullenly, disentangling herself from his arms. "Not in her house. Of course."

"Shhh, pet," he said kissing her again. "Just need to church mice it, love."

She grinned, "I can handle that."

"Can you?" he replied, his voice silky, caressing the words in a tone that always made her shudder with pleasure and anticipation.

So, as lightly kissed her nipples, a tingling whisper over her skin, and her tongue ran along the length of his cock, and his fingers explored between her legs, and she gently bit where his shoulder met his neck, they were quiet. It was a kind of a game between them. They knew each other's bodies so well, knew where to lick and grab and graze in order to release each moan, each sigh of pleasure, each groan of longing. They teased each other, testing the silence.

Buffy could not help but find it exciting. The forced quiet where there would normally be screams and whimpers and growls of pleasure. The need for restrain and the desire to force him to lose control, to shatter the silence with the insuppressible language of love and lust and need. And, although she would never admit it, even to herself, there was the pleasure of knowing that in this house, Rae's house, Spike was hers. With each kiss and caress she claimed him again and again. Hers. Hers. Hers.

And when he entered him, and she bit her lip to stop the moan that was swelling inside of her, and the bed squeaked, so he rolled off of it, holding her against them, blankets cushioning their fall. After the thud neither of them moved for a few minutes, and then Buffy flipped them over so that she was on top of him, her body rhythmically moving on his cock. He ran his fingers down her back and grabbed her ass, and then one hand was rubbing her clit, sending shivers of pleasure through her as she came, and she arched her body, taking him deeper inside of her. And she felt his body tense, the way that it always did before he came, and his lips parted, but she placed a finger lightly against them, and the waves of his pleasure filled her.

The second time he was on top of her, pounding against her, the sound of his skin colliding with hers and their heavy breathing filling the otherwise silent room. And as orgasms burned through them again, Buffy whispered his name, over and over and over, in a voice barely loud enough for even him to hear. And he, still on top of her, his mouth beside her ear, murmured her name.

When Buffy woke up a few hours later, they were still on the floor, clutching each other, swaddled in blankets. She pulled on a t-shirt and went to the bathroom. When she came back into the bedroom, she kneeled over him. "Spike," she said, shaking him.

"Bloody hell," he grumbled, turning onto his side, his back facing her.

"I'm pretty sure I've said this before," she replied, "but you sleep like the dead."

She shook him again, this time enough to rouse him. They untangled the blankets and through them over the bed before climbing in. His body curler around her, his arm around her (she loved it when he was the big spoon), and he fell back to sleep.

Buffy lay in bed awake a while longer. She could be happy, couldn't she? She was happy now. With him. Even here. Even saving the world. Again. He was right. There probably wouldn't be an ever after for them, so she was going to have to be happy with during. As long as she had him, it could work. As long as neither of them did anything stupid and kept the heroics to a minimum. They would survive this. She snuggled closer to him, pulling his arm tighter around her. And they would be happy during it, and then after, and then in the next during too.

The next morning they woke up early. Rae was already in the kitchen, coffee brewing, the water in the tea kettle near boiling. "I didn't know if you did coffee or tea. So I made both," she explained, a half empty mug of green tea already in her hand.

"Doesn't matter. As long as it's full of caffeinated goodness," Buffy said with a smile and a shrug.

Rae poured a cup of coffee for Buffy and after the tea kettle had shrieked on the stove, she prepared a cup of tea for Spike. "So, what's on the agenda today?" she said brightly, and Buffy hated how cheery she was. Morning people were so irritating.

"Lying low, hopefully," Spike said. "I'm not going anywhere until Mr. Sunshine sets. Buffy what time are your classes."

"Not too early," she said, "but I'm not exactly used to the commute."

"Takes about hour, sometimes a little bit more," Rae offered.

"Which means that I need to leave here by like 10 or so. Great," she sighed. "Is there a butcher near by where we can get some blood? I'm all for vampire hunger games, but not when it's my boyfriend."

Buffy was amazed and a little frightened by the prices in the butcher shop, and the amount that Rae paid for the blood. In Sunnydale they basically gave the stuff away, which was weird because of supply and demand and everything.

"Wow, over priced much?" Buffy muttered as she walked out of the shop with a few gallons of blood. No wonder she couldn't afford Brooklyn and why Rae didn't eat meat. Not at those prices.

Rae laughed. "It's my own deal really. It was part of the compromise I made with myself when Spike, uh, moved in. You know, the, um, the first time." She looked down. "I didn't like the idea of buying blood because of the, you know, whole mistreatment-and-brutal-slaughter-of- helpless-animals thing, so I decided to only buy the blood from heritage meat shops. Which means that they aren't over bred and are organic and raised on small farms not industrial shit pits and are humanely treated and humanely slaughtered, what ever that means, but also means that they cost way way more than most normal, reasonable people would spend on pork and poultry."

Buffy eyed her for a minute. "You strike me as someone who has spent way too much time documentary-ing," she said. It was weird. The woman had no problem sleeping with a married man, but she was willing to spend way too much money just to make sure that pig didn't suffer. During her time as a Slayer, Buffy had come up against all sorts of moral codes, but this girl's was just weird.

They made small talk as they walked back to the apartment. Buffy had another cup of coffee and a bowl of non-fat yogurt, which was, of course, organic, with frozen strawberries and granola, before making the trip back to the Bronx. Spike gave her really specific directions, so she didn't get lost, which was lucky because the NYC subway system was still kind of a complete mystery to her.

She hadn't wanted to leave to go class. But Spike had pointed out if the apocalypse was a'comin' then she better not use up her absences, never knew when she was going to have to skip class because of some crisis or other. And so far today had been thankfully crisis free.

But, she wasn't happy about leaving him with her. She was just going to have to trust him, because god knew she didn't trust her.

Buffy sat through her classes, but not surprisingly, she was pretty distracted. But at least she was there, which meant that she had to be absorbing something, right? After class she walked down to their apartment and was surprised to find the door locked. The doctor must have fastened it after him when he had finally come to. As she was digging through her bag for her key, she wondered how he was doing. She knew he had been hard on him, but he had made her so angry. Doing that to his wife. He had no idea what he was fucking with.

She bagged up the harpies, which were beginning to smell just awful, well awfuller than they had before, and pushed them down the garbage shoot. They probably should have taken care of that before they had left the previous day, but she had never been one for the demon clean up. One reason why she liked vamps so much. No fuss, no muss. Luckily the broken windows had kept air circulating and had prevented the smell from becoming unbearable.

She tracked down her landlord, who gave her a very dirty look when she explained about the windows and didn't seem to buy her story about the three baseballs. He got slightly less prickly when she assured him that she and her boyfriend would be staying a friend's on the other side of town until the windows could be repaired. After she packed up another bag she had brought with her with some more of her and Spike's stuff, she turned off the lights, locked the door and headed back to Brooklyn.

"Do you want to stir or grate?" as Buffy, as she walked into the brownstone, heard Rae asking. The place smelled delicious.

"Stir," he heard Spike say grudgingly.

There was a few seconds of silence before Rae said, "Hey muscles, I know you have the vamp strength and everything, but take it easy. You're going to break my spoon, and that's dangerous for everyone."

Although she was tempted to keep ease dropping (which was a very very very bad Buffy idea), she kinda had to know what was going on. So she walked up the stairs to see Spike and Rae in the kitchen. Rae was grating some parmesan and Spike was stirring a pot on the stove, which was probably the source of the delicious smell. There were two half empty glasses of wine on the counter.

Spike had spoken with Rae after Buffy had left. She had admitted to the pot and the bottle of wine, which she insisted had only been three quarters full to begin with. She had assured him that the pills were only tylenol, and because he had no proof to the contrary, he had to believe her. For now. But he was watching her closely.

Buffy walked up to Spike, "So, whatcha doing?" she said, kissing him.

"Can't stop stirring," he grinned at her.

"I'm done," Rae said, "I'll take over stir duty."

Spike handed her the spoon, and he wrapped his arms around Buffy. "Missed you," he said softly against her ear.

"Glad to see Rae put you to work," Buffy smiled. "Didn't know you had kitchen skills."

"Not so fast there, love. Rae only tells me to do the things she knows I can't bugger up."

Rae flashed him a smile. "What are you talking about, Spike. Risotto stirring is a sacred task, not to be taken at all lightly."

"So, that's what smells so good."

"Figured you didn't want tofu again. It's ready if you're hungry."

"Muchly."

Rae portioned out some of the risotto into two bowls and then drizzled some super green looking stuff over the top of it. "It's sweet corn risotto with some basil oil," she explained. While Spike poured more wine into his and Rae's glasses and poured a glass for Buffy.

"It's delicious," said between mouthfuls. "Really delicious."

Just as they were finishing their dinner, Buffy's phone rang. They all tensed as Buffy sprang up to answer it. "Hey Giles. What's the sitch?"

"I'm afraid I don't have any news, yet. We've made some progress, but I'm afraid I need some more information."

"What do you need to know?"

"I think it might be best if I spoke with, uh, Spike, actually."

Buffy swallowed. "So not what I was expecting you to say. But here he is," she said, holding the phone out to Spike, who screwed up his face in confusion. "He says he needs to talk to you," Buff said with a shrug.

Spike took the phone, "What can I do you for, Rupes?" he said coolly.

"I need some more information about this rather perplexing young woman, and I thought it would be best for you and me to have a private conversation."

"Ask away, mate," Spike said, filling his wine glass and grabbing his cigarettes, "I'll be out on the stoop," he told the girls.

After he left the women exchanged looks. "What do you think they are talking about?" Rae asked.

"God I so wish I knew," Buffy replied.

"Everything?" Spike said, annoyance clear in his tone. "Do you think you could be a bit vaguer?"

"I apologize for not being extraordinarily specific, but I'm not sure exactly what we are looking for."

"Just figured you'd pick on my noggin then? Well, alright then," he paused. "But this little share session, it's not for you, yeah. It's for Buffy. And Rae."

"Understood." Giles swallowed loudly. "I understand if you harbor some resentment toward me given past circumstances."

"You tried to have me killed."

"I thought I was doing what was best for Buffy." 

"At least we're singing the same song there, Rupes."

"Well, if it's any consolation, I was wrong."

Spike chuckled. "You know it never gets old hearing you righteous sorts say that. Thought it would, but nope. So you want to know everything."

He told him about meeting Rae, about going out for drinks, and the vampires that had attacked her. He told him what he knew of her history, her diet, her home, her quirks and shortcomings as well as her virtues.

He talked for about a half an hour and he could hear Giles on the other end taking notes. "That's about all I got," he said, lighting his third cigarette. Plus, he wanted to get back inside and fill up his glass.

Giles sighed. "This is going to sound wildly inappropriate, but I am afraid I must ask it, have a theory…"

"Spit it out, then."

"What was, uh, sexual intercourse like with the young lady in question? No details, please. Just if there was anything, uh, unusual."

Spike actually guffawed. "You dirty old wanker," he laughed.

"No I assure you…" Giles began.

"Randy Giles indeed."

"This is strictly of professional…"

"Didn't figure you for the type for the whole Dear-Penthouse-I-don't-usually-write-these-letters-but deal"

"Spike, please attempt to control yourself. This information could be important."

"Fine. Fine. But you are a pervert. Watchers a bit of a voyuer, eh." Still, he told Giles the sense of peace, of happiness, of belonging that had washed over them when he had been with her. "Not that I think it's that unusual," he explained, "but it was, you know. Euphoric."

"Thank you," Giles said, and Spike could imagine him furiously cleaning his glasses. "That information is actually, uh, quite helpful. More than I ever wanted to know about you, but helpful all the same. Just one more thing, another rather personal inquiry, I'm afraid."

"More personal than poking around my sex life?"

"Spike, have you tasted her?"

"Tasted her?"

"Don't be daft. Have you tasted her blood?"

**Evil cliffhanger, I know. But I do hope that everyone continues to enjoy this story. I have also begun posting another, much, much shorter story, called "Somewhere on a Desert Highway," which I will also be working on. I would appreciate feedback on either (or both) piece(s). Thanks. **


	50. Thorn

**Sorry that it has been forever since I have last updated this story. I was suffering from a pretty intense case of writer's block and then life got way too busy for me to actually do anything fun. I'm still not one hundred percent happy with this chapter, but I figured that I had better post it and move the story along. School and work is looking even busier next semester, so I don't know when I will be able to update again. But rest assured that I have not and do not intend to abandon this story. I'm just waiting for the PTB (namely my professors and boss) to let me have time to write. Thank you so much for your patience and again, I apologize for my seriously sucky updating. **

**New York 2007**

"This way, I think," Rae said, peering into the darkness. The April moon was only half full, and provided some light, but not nearly enough. Luckily, Rae knew these paths well. She had paid for a membership at the Bronx Botanical Gardens and would often go for her daily run through its forest. It was convenient, right across the street from campus. And, it gave her the illusion that she wasn't in the middle of eight million people, which was probably what she loved most about it. During the hours she spent in the park, she felt herself slip back into the wilderness that had been the setting of her childhood. It was an escape that she adored, longed for, craved, and she immerged from the garden forest invigorated and refreshed if a bit sweaty and smelly.

She shivered as she pulled her dark wool coat closer around her. It was the last night of the evening orchids shows, late April, and although the days had been unseasonably warm, the nights still held on to the last remnants of winter.

Spike hadn't been thrilled about attending the orchid show. He had said that it was likely to full of old sods and foogies. Wasn't exactly his scene. Didn't care much for flowers. Seemed a bit too much like something that pouncy William would have been a bit too chuffed about. But he had seen how much it had meant to Rae and had given in pretty easily. It seemed like he always gave in pretty easily it when it came to women. A right soft spot, he had.

They had meandered through the conservatory for a while, having a couple of drinks, before slipping away. The conservatory had been crowded, close, and a bit too warm, full of couples marveling at the towering displays of orchids that filled the room. Although he never would have admitted it aloud, he understood why so many couples had turned out for this and not just ones smelling of mothballs either. There was something damned seductive about all of those orchids, so clearly resembling the petals of a vagina, all around you. Place was practically a living aphrodisiac, pulsating with sex. The five martinis he had downed hadn't hurt either. There would be a number of very happy blokes by night's end. He would bet good kittens on that.

Still, he didn't quite understand why Rae fancied the place so much.

"I always thought this wouldn't be such a bad place to die," she had said dreamily as they had strolled pasted the displays.

"What now, luv?" he asked, a bit taken back by the conversation's sudden turn toward morbidity.

She laughed. "When I was an undergrad, my friends and I, we used to get high and play board games. Lame, I know," she said before he could interrupt her. "But whenever we played Clue, I always made Colonel Mustard or Miss Scarlet, Professor Plum, whoever had killed Mr. Black, do it in the conservatory. I thought that would be a little less sad, for him to die there, you know. At least he got to die somewhere beautiful. Not like the billiards rooms." She wrinkled her nose. "Of course it also meant that I didn't win very often. Way too predicable. Even if my opponents were totally stoned."

He shook his head, looking down at her affectionately. Odd bird, she was. Still he got her point. Full of life and sex this place was. Better to die somewhere where things came back to life every year, than in the filth of a dark back alley. It probably would be a little less sad, although no less brutal. "Don't know that a few flowers could really do that much to dress it up when a candlestick or a wrench comes clobbering down on your head."

"No, never the wrench. Or the lead pipe. I never really got why that was ever an option. I mean what kind of mansion just has lead pipes lying around just waiting for someone to use it as a murder weapon. Candlesticks, sure. Knives and Revolvers? Maybe it was premeditated. But nobody premeditates with a lead pipe."

"Right then, so it was the weapon of choice that bothered you, not the fact that the same bloke was constantly being done in?"

She shrugged. "It's only a game. Still," she said looking around, "I think there should be points for style."

"Trust me, luv," he said. "Points go to the offer, not the offed. Been both, after all."

They weren't supposed to start wandering through the gardens, which usually were not open after sunset. But with Spike's vamp-vision it was easy to find the paths, and Rae knew the place well.

They wandered past the azaleas that were just beginning to bloom, pink and purple and white faintly illuminated by the moonlight, and they made their way to the lilacs, each breeze wafting their heavy, heavenly scent.

Rae stepped off the path, the heel of her stiletto sinking into the soft soil. She kicked off her shoes and walked over to one of the bushes, burying her face in a bunch of flowers. "God, I love this smell," she said, and she moved from bush to bush, wrapping herself in the scent.

Spike stood and watched her. She seemed different here. More alive and more real. Somehow less constrained, as if something in the scent of those little star shaped flowers had released something inside of her. He scoffed at himself. A bit of moonlight and a bunch of flowers and the bleeding romantic in him was just bursting to emerge. If he didn't watch out, he would start speaking in bad verse. Ode to the fair, floral maid or some rubbish.

"It reminds me of my mother," she said, as she walked back to where he was standing on the path. Some of the scent of the lilacs had clung to her, mixing with the sweet smell of her blood that he often found so overwhelming. "When the lilacs bloomed we would sit under them for hours, reading, talking, dreaming. It was odd, I guess, but it was always one of my favorite memories of her. You know, she would talk to each bush like she knew it personally. Sometimes she could be so weird, but I never realized that until much later. Most people, I guess, don't spend much time chatting with vegetation."

Spike shrugged. He was used to her sudden outbursts of manic pixie. Kept things interesting. The way her moods shifted. It was better if he just went with it. Less whiplash. "We've all got our quirks, I suppose."

"You're especially quirky."

"Well, yeah. Vampire. What's your excuse?"

She grinned. "Home schooled by hippie mom trumps vampire anytime."

They moved toward the rose garden. Rae had told him that it was a bit early for roses; they would need another few weeks before their blooms were really ready. But there were a few early buds, the plants' response to the unseasonably warm weather they had been having.

Rae stopped in front of a small white rose, glowing silver in the moonlight. She bent her head to inhale the rose's sweet musk, and then she recoiled quickly. A single drop of blood beaded on her fingertip, the result of the flower's thrown.

Instinctively she had flinched, her finger flying to her lips. Then she had paused, the drop of blood dark in the moonlight. She then, slowly, extended the finger toward Spike.

"Rae, I shouldn't…" he started to say, but he parted his lips as she slipped her finger between them and the rest of his protests were forgotten.

Her blood was the sweetest he had tasted. Like melons and honey suckle and mangos and sunshine and peaches and ripeness and life. He closed his eyes. He could feel the cartilage in his face shift. But he didn't care. All he cared about was savoring the sweetness of her blood.

He could still remember the taste of Buffy's blood from when he had licked it from the cut on her upper arm. It was one of the memories that the First had cruelly restored to him. One of the memories that had haunted him. Buffy's blood had been sweet, but with hints of darkness to it, like blackberries and currents and figs. It had been spicy too, nutmeg and clove. Rae's blood was pure sweetness and light. He had never tasted anything like it. It was intoxicating. Slayer blood is an aphrodisiac; Rhea's blood was fucking vampire Viagra. Not that he needed Viagra, of course. He was less than two centuries old. But still. It had made him hard in an instant.

He had grabbed hold of her roughly, pushing up the skirt of her dress. "Rae," he had moaned into her hair, her shoulder. He could her the blood pounding beneath her skin. He didn't know what had come over him, but he knew that he needed to be inside of her.

His kiss was fierce and hard and he could taste more of her blood in his mouth. He pulled away from her, afraid that he had hurt her, afraid of himself, of his desire for her, of his desire to ignore his fear and take her and have her.

He repeated her name, the sound of it changed by his fangs, his yellow eyes reflected in hers. She nodded, consenting to be what he wanted, needed, in that moment. She unbuttoned her coat and pushed her hair over her shoulder and offered him her neck.

His fangs slid into her flesh, and she was surprised by their gentleness, by the pleasure that she felt from their penetration. She felt herself shiver as he drew away, his cold tongue licking the wounds in her neck. She had trusted that he would not harm her, but she had been afraid that it would hurt. It hadn't. She felt the wetness pooling between her legs.

And then he was on top of her and inside of her and he could feel the sun on his skin. He opened his eyes and the world was bright. Too bright. It hurt to look. The colors all around him were vibrant and real in a way that they hadn't been in over a century.

"Do you see the sun, Rae?" he asked, but her response was quiet and far away, echoing around his head. But it didn't make sense because she had said that there was no sun, just the moon. But the moon's light was reflected and could never be so bright. He saw two crimson stars on her neck and ran his tongue along them, her pleasure contracting around his cock.

His hands gripped the grass and he could feel each blade and the tangle of roots that held them all in place. And he felt his fingers extend into the soil and they too were like roots holding him in place and connecting him to soil and the grass and the earth to the woman he was fucking. And he could hear the insects around them, their buzzing merging with his groans and Rae's moans, and he was connected to them too. And when he came into Rae, he felt himself connected to the world in a way that he hadn't since his death and even before that. In that moment, everything made sense to him in a way that it never had.

"Well," he had said afterward, still reeling, "that was something."

On the walk home he had leaned heavily on Rae, his body somehow not responding to the commands he gave it and he felt flushed and confused and ashamed but full of life.

**New York 2009**

"Well," Giles prompted. "Have you?"

Spike swallowed audibly. "Don't tell Buffy."

There was a beat of silence. "I presume that is a 'yes' then."

For some reason his mouth felt dry. "You've figured me out, Sherlock. Caught me, you have. Ever the scoundrel. You can put the soul back in the vampire, but you can't take the vampire out of the soul. It's a package deal."

"Was it consensual?"

"Of course," he growled. "I wouldn't… couldn't… Soul now, remember Rupes. Guilt helps to curb the appetite, you know. Can't see to give up smoking though. Nasty habit."

"I figured that she had consented. But I must be sure," the Watcher responded dryly. "And I take it you have not yet informed Buffy of this?"

The question hung in the air.

"Timing never seemed right."

"You know that the knowledge of this will probably be very upsetting to her."

"Which is precisely why I asked you to keep your bleeding mouth shut."

"She deserves to know."

"And I plan to tell her."

"I rather think you should."

"And I rather thing you should butt the hell out, Rupert. Sure you're dying to let her know that you were right all along, but I'd prefer it if you left that honor to me. Especially if I can figure a place to tell her with nothing pointy and wooden readily available. I've answered your bloody questions. Are we quite done, then?"

"How many times?"

"Gonna need a bit more to go on than that."

"Did you drink from her?"

"Not many. Ten maybe. Fifteen tops. Didn't exactly notch a blood bag after each score." After that first time he had been afraid. He had scared himself. The way he had lost control. Lost his humanity. Lost himself in a way that was exciting and invigorating but terribly dangerous. He had felt like he was a part of the world again, but he could have killed her and the demon inside of him almost had. Had it not been tethered by his soul it would have. But the taste of her had lingered in his mouth for days and the memory of feeling the sun on his skin had haunted him longer than that and he had bitten her and drunk from her again.

Although he had been going for moderation, small silver scars still dotted her breasts and inner thighs.

"Never made a real habit of it."

Giles exhaled. "I'm afraid that you may have been rather lucky that you did not. Tell me, what was it like? Her blood?"

"Let me guess, it's for research?"

"Precisely."

"I'm going to want some proof of that."

"I'll be sure to fax you my dissertation."

"Sex and the Single Vampire: A scientific inquiry. Sounds tawdry."

"Need I remind you that you are wasting time?"

"Apparently." He took a long drag on his cigarette. "Her blood was sweet."

"And?"

"And it made me feel a bit shedded."

"Shedded how?"

"I don't know. It was like Woodstock. Seeing things that weren't there. Feeling things that weren't real. Bit of a Kumbaya note to the whole experience."

"And that didn't strike you as odd?"

"Been a while since I had a drink, you know. Didn't know what the effects would be when I'd been off the juice for as long as I had. Plus, bird's been on her share of benders. Figured it might be residual."

"Well, Spike," Giles said curtly after a few moments of silence, "the information you gave has been most…enlightening."

"Glad to hear it got you off."

He grinned at Giles' exasperated sigh. "I'll ring Buffy after I've referenced a few more volumes in the archive."

"Thrilling. Be all pins and needles till then," Spike said, before hanging up the phone. He lingered on the step for a few more minutes. He should have told Buffy. He knew it. He wasn't a complete berk. But then things had been going well, and he had not wanted to cause another row. There had been a few times when he had been on the verge of telling her, but then he was afraid of sabbing everything with her. Of course, he had been doing it all along anyway, hadn't he? Each day he had waited had made matters worse.

He ground the end of his cigarette into the stoop. He would tell her the next chance he got. And then he would deal with her wrath. Hell had no fury like a slayer feeling scorned. That he knew first hand. He would just hope that she had gotten attached enough to him during the past few months that she wouldn't be feeling overly dust happy.

He headed inside.

Giles took off his glasses and rested his head between the palms of his hands. Spike had confirmed his worst fears. Poor Buffy. She was strong, there was no doubting that. But this was going to be a test. And he just hoped that she could pass it without letting it break her completely.

She would need more than fists for this one. This one would require her heart.

The only thing left was to tell her and let the thing begin.

"What did Giles want to know?" Buff asked as Spike climbed the stairs to the living room and Rae paused the episode of _Veronica Mars_ they were watching. He sat down on the couch next to Buffy.

"Just anything I could tell him, really."

"Did he have any clue what we're dealing with?"

"Seemed to. But he wasn't about to start sharing with the likes of me. Was more about the questioning and the hmmming and ahhhing without being overly forthcoming. Typical Watcher rubbish."

"But he seems to have an idea? Of what I am, I mean?"

"Said he needed to check out a few books. Which means he'll bury himself under a pile of parchment before we're likely to hear from him." The phone rang. _Giles._ "Or he'll be calling back within a matter of minutes."

Buffy answered, putting it on speakerphone. "Giles?"

"Buffy."

"Uh-oh. That sounds like ultimate-evil-rising-end-of-the-world-impossible-odds Giles voice."

"I'm afraid it might actually be a bit worse than that."

"Worse? You know I hate it when you get to be all bad-newsy."

"Yes, well, I rather hate to be the bearer."

"So, what's the deal?"

"Well the good news is that I believe that I have determined what the young lady is."

"And the bad?"

"Is that I am anticipating that you are not going to be very happy about it."

"Spit it out, Rupes," Spike interjected. "You've made with the gloom and the forboding. What is the bird?" Buffy shot him a disapproving look.

"I knew we are dealing with something supernatural here, Giles, which usually doesn't mean hugs and puppies and good times for Buffy."

"What we are dealing with is a nymph."


End file.
